Blackened Sunrise
by The Itch
Summary: Having vanished at the end of 4th year, Harry Potter is forced to return during 6th and he's changed. Not necessarily for the better, either.
1. Return

October 2, 2007: Minor revisions, corrected spelling and grammar.

Original note:

This little thing came about because of an evil image of Harry looking like my Spider-Boy. Okay, so he's not really my Spider-Boy, but he's really hot and I have a tendency to daydream about him. For an image of Spider-boy, think of your average brown-eyed black haired fifteen year old boy. Now, he's about five three, and fairly slender. Sometimes his clothing looks like it's trying to swallow him - He's got classic bishounen features, and is always wearing black. Always black. I have never seen him wear anything that wasn't at least half black. And he's got this black collar that has this big-ass spider charm on it. Can you guess why I call him Spider-boy?

So, yeah, I imagined Potter looking like that, then I need a reason for it, and this thing came about. I'm going to apologize to all my buddies who ever thought of the Soldier of Chaos being a certain black haired redhead. They all seem to run along the same thought process, I just decided to apply it to a different area. La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la

Oh yeah: this is my first HP fic. I don't own any of the HP characters-- Rowling does. I do own "The Old Man", though. I have to come up with a name for that guy. He actually has a roll to play.

* * *

**Blackened Sunrise**  
_Chapter One: Return_  
The Itch

* * *

When they entered the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, they found quite the surprise.

By 'they' it is, of course, meant the students, for the professors had all been seated in the Great Hall with this little 'surprise'. For there, seated at the Gryffindor table, was one Harry James Potter.

Two years ago, this certainly would not have come as a surprise. Of course, two years ago had been the beginning of his fourth year at Hogwarts, and this is what should have been his sixth. Should have, for Harry had vanished sometime during the summer hols after fourth year. He hadn't been at the school for even a minute of his fifth year, and Slytherin House had relished in his absence. They had taken to tormenting their rivals, chanting and singing about the cowardice that Potter was showing.

By the end of the year, it was no surprise that even the staunch Gryffindors were beginning to wonder if it were true.

Taken all into account, it was no wonder that the student body were shocked to find the Boy-Who-Lived sitting at his house table. The teenager did not look happy in the slightest meaning of the word; in fact, he looked downright pissed off. His year-mates were afraid to sit near him, and even Hermione and Ron hesitated. This boy who sulked at the end of the table was not quite the friend they had so dearly missed.

Harry had never watched the sorting with such glassy eyes, and though many a person had stared and watched Harry over the years, never had it been quite so blatant, and in many cases with gazes glittering with an edge of concern.

Some of these watchers noted how pale and withdrawn he looked: his skin almost frighteningly white, his eyes large behind his glasses, and his hair falling in dirty tangles around his face to his chin. Others whispered to themselves about the piercings that dotted his face, the sharp glint of metal running through lip and ears and nose. More muttered about the ragged state of his robes, and yet another group wondered at the look of furious rebellion and icy hate that glimmered in his eyes.

Few, if any, noticed the leather collar around his neck, or the chain that ran from it. It was tucked carefully into his robe so that only a minimal amount of it could be seen, and slipped out through his left sleeve to connect him directly to the table. If Harry wanted to leave, then he would have to take the table with him.

And that was the reason that he was currently glowering—and in some cases, growling—at those who came near him. He most certainly did _not_ want to be at Hogwarts. He had been perfectly fine and healthy where he had been before! There was no need to worry about the deaths that he could still feel weighing down on his shoulders. When he was in the Workshop with his caretaker and learning oh-so-many ways to do things that Wizards had never thought of… that was the place he felt safe. There he had been protected, comfortable, and above all _calm_.

Here, in this place that had once been his refuge, his home, all he could feel was the unnerving itch to run. To bolt away back to his home: back to his safety and never return. Yes, the Workshop where he had lived for the past year had become his beloved home, and he chewed his lip in wondering that the Old Man would think. He had just gone out to purchase some items for him, and an accidental meeting with Snape resulted in… this.

That blasted Potions Master, Harry growled to himself, his eyes catching on the familiar hook-nosed form of his least respected professor. If that bastard hadn't seen him right then and there, he would have gotten off scot-free.

But no, here he was at Hogwarts once again. And it was all that asshole's fault.

Was it all Snape's fault? Certainly not. No, as much as Harry would delight in laying all the blame at the feet of the irritant known as Severus Snape, it was not entirely his fault. Harry himself could take some of the blame in this case, as he _had_ made the mistake of using one of his particular talents to get away—it was McGonagall who had figured it out, and it was Dumbledore who had cast the spells. They'd tracked him down using Sirius and snapped the enchanted collar and chain around his neck.

It's hard to fight back when you're sleeping; something Harry was going to have to change. He had already started to do so, in fact, by sleeping less and less every night that he was trapped within these castle walls. And trapped he was: chained to a table with a magic chain that he could not escape from… a low, animalistic growl could escape, however, and the teenager continued to glare at the Head Table.

The few first years that had gathered the courage to sit near him quickly scrambled to get as far away from him as they possibly could.

* * *

A few hours after the rest of Gryffindor House had gone off to bed, Harry glided into the common room. He glowered at the floor, his arms crossed protectively across his chest and his teeth grit in anger; the chain that had kept him locked to the table had been long set free, and it trailed down his chest free of any restraint; even that of his clothing. With the collar clamped around his neck, he couldn't _do_ anything. The only reason that he had been chained to the table was to ensure that he was present for the Sorting Ceremony.

Goddamned holier-than-thou teachers.

Ha! Teachers! Yeah right. They couldn't teach him anything worth knowing, he was sure of it. You couldn't brew a potion in the middle of a battle, after all. Charms that changed mittens into kittens or something as insipid at that were absolutely useless! They couldn't protect you if you got into a fight, and to Harry Potter, _everything_ was in terms of "useful in battle" and "worthless in battle". The Old Man had caught him that.

He had taught Harry many, many things. The least of which that was that insanity, once harnessed, was a power unlimited.

The boy sighed, looping his chain around one hand and drifting up the stairs in the direction of the sixth year boys' dorm. Who cared if he was "supposed" to be in fifth year due to missing it in its entirety? If they were going to force him to attend their school, he would do things _his_ way, no ifs, no ands, and certainly no buts.

Pushing open the door to the dorm room, he was only partially surprised to find that the other sixth year boys were still sitting up and talking. They could be chattier than a group of gossip girls when they really wanted to be. The conversation, however, fell silent as he entered the room, their gazes and faces expressing their confusion at his presence. There was also an undercurrent of mistrust, especially as they watched Potter strip off his robe and revealing the items beneath.

He wore clothing of course—a simple pair of black muggle pants that seemed about ready to fall off of his hips, and an oversized but clean black t-shirt reading "doesn't play well with others" in glaring red text. It was the other items that drew stares. The brown leather belt that was the only thing holding his pants up was paired with a second belt that only went through one loop of his pants and fell limply from one hip. There were the thick black leather gauntlets that stretched from elbow to wrist and over the hand; the leather only thinning in the fingers. Something black and metallic was tucked between his arms and the gauntlets.

The chain and collar were certainly much more visible like this, as were another set of 'collars' that were wrapped around his upper arms. Magic seemed to waft off of these collars, so powerful were the enchantments. If any of the boys had the ability to sense these things, they would have noticed that the enchantments were actually reducing Harry's overall magic power level. But they didn't.

A simple gold chain lay curled around his throat, and disappeared beneath his shirt. As he pulled said shirt off to change into his pajamas, the golden image of a lion's head thumped solidly against his chest at the end of the chain. Harry shucked off his pants, revealing a set of shin-guards that matched his gauntlets, and a pair of pale blue boxers. Against all the black, the blue seemed shockingly bright. He tugged on a pair of pajama bottoms 'rescued' from one of the other boys' trunks, and with a raised eyebrow he smirked: "Show's over, boys."

As one they seemed to flush, with Neville stuttering something about not actually watching, while Dean and Seamus seemed to be content with staring awkwardly at the wall. Ron, after his own bout of stuttering finally passed, got up the nerve to as the one question they had all been wondering: "Where were you last year?"

They did not get what they had expected. What they got was a Harry who growled angrily, looking for a moment more like a caged animal than a human being. His green eyes flashed dangerously, and he spat out a furious curse. "What does it matter?" his voice was sharp, "The Professors refused to let me go back, so why bother talking about it?

"You've been gone for a _year_, Harry!"

Ron sounded a bit annoyed, Harry thought a bit distantly. Though there was an undercurrent of concern and worry, it just wasn't enough to make the Potter Heir give a damn. He was just feeling so _tired_ all of a sudden, and a yawn fought its way free. He blinked tiredly, "Look, Ron, I'm about to fall asleep standing. Can I get some sleep first?"

He didn't bother to wait for an answer, instead just dropping himself into his designated bed, barely pausing to heft his covers over his body, and drift off to sleep.

At precisely four-oh-five am, a yawn broke the sounds of gentle sleep and a pair of green eyes blinked open to stare up at the canopy over his bed. He frowned at the copious amount of red for a long moment, and then nodded to himself. "It looks too much like blood," was his grumpy mutter, "a different color would be fantastic."

He stared at it for a few longer moments before he sighed and forced himself up into a sitting position. He struggled through his blankets to the end of the bed and reached down into his discarded muggle pants. A quick search of the pockets produced his wand, and he pointed it at his bed with a half grunted, "No more red."

It wasn't really a charm or spell, per say. Harry simply did not want the bed to be red anymore, and so he told it that. His lips twitched with glee once the colors had cycled to something that he actually liked. The comforter and the canopy were a nice shimmery gold, while his pillow case and the sheets were black.

Again, it was one of those "if I have to be here…" things.

Once this 'monumentous' task was completed, Potter finally dragged himself fully out of his bed and stretched. A quick warm-up of his muscles and he was pulling his pants back on in minutes. The shirt he'd worn the night before was left on the ground, and instead went to his trunk. A helpful house elf appeared to have brought it from the fifth year dorms to the sixth year during the night, for which Harry was grateful.

While he had been taken without warning from his home, Harry had been taught to bring his belongings with him in all cases. As such, the trunk had been with him only shrunken down and kept in his pocket. For like every other student in Hogwarts, his belongings were stored in his trunk, but some of those possessions were not the sort of things that a student generally had access to.

These he strapped to his arms and chest or tucked into his pants before he swept his Invisibility Cloak on and over his head.

He moved swiftly through the halls of the magical boarding school, using route that he hadn't taken in over a year, and yet remembered with startling accuracy. His goat was the Quidditch Pitch, and as he had expected for four in the morning there was no one else on the pitch. The teenager stepped out onto the field, drifting towards the center of the pitch before sliding into a ready stance.

It was here that he began to dance. It was a dance that had been taught for generations, a dance of lethal grace and beauty as he fought the invisible opponents conjured in his mind. This is what he had been taught, day in and day out, for the past year, though if it had truly only been a year, then his skill should not have been as great as it was. He moved as one who had trained for years and years would move—and certainly not with an open hand.

He danced with blades: a sword that flashed ruthlessly with every graceful sweep and stab, a pair of knives that carved silvery trails in the rising sun, a thin stiletto that peeked out for a jab, then disappeared once more…

With one final move, the teenager slid his sword back into the scabbard across his back, and his favorite dagger was tucked back into the sheath at his hip. A whispered word, and all the throwing knives that he had used whisked back to him; another dance of deadly beauty had him twisting and flipping in order to catch the knives in their respective sheaths without harming himself.

In the early morning light, the arcane symbols that were embossed into the leather of his collars glinted and nearly glowed. Obviously, these were professionally crafted slave collars of the highest degree.

Sweat glistening at each hard plain of his lithe form—he was thin and lanky, but he was a thin and lanky package of hard muscle—the Boy-Who-Lived took a whiff of his own body odor and pulled a face, "Shower. Definitely need a shower."

Once more he pulled his cloak around his shoulders and entered the building, cheerfully and skillfully avoiding both Mrs. Norris and McGonagall's feline forms. Ah yes. The showers they do a call. He couldn't wait to have a hot shower and scrub off some of his sweat and grim. There was nothing quite like a shower to make one feel alive.

He stopped off in his dorm first, putting all of the weapons but for his favorite dagger, back into his trunk. The Invisibility Cloak was dropped somewhat carelessly on top of it all, and he picked up a shirt and his robe.

Shower time.

* * *

End Chapter

Original note:  
Erm, if it sounds slightly psychotic, it's not my fault. Honestly. I'm sure that there's a reasonable explanation for that, I just have to think one up. In the meantime, I'm going to go play some videogames. Laterz.

October 2, 2007:

So, what do these revisions mean? It means there's a cabinet in my bedroom with an outline in it. Take that however you wish to.


	2. Professor

October 16, 2007: Minor revisions. Spelling/grammar, all that good stuff.

original note: I thank ye all fer reading and liking this.

As fer the questions about 'Mione, well, no one was approaching him during dinner 'cause he was pissed off enough to be growlin' like an animal, and when he got in, everyone had shuffled off to their dorms because it was after curfew.

There are elements of a novel I've been (attempting) to write, called "The Living Weapon" in this. That's why it seems a bit strange.

Oh, yeah! Don't expect me to update everyday. I had chapter two half finished when I posted chapter one. As it is, I want to try for some longer chapters, which generally means I have to haul out my notebook and write everything long-hand. I can't estimate how much I have to write when I type it directly, instead of writting long hand and numbering the pages.

I don't own Harry Potter & Co. I do own Daemen Wolfos, however.

* * *

**Blackened Sunrise**  
_Chapter Two: Professor_  
The Itch

* * *

Harry roughly scrubbed his wet hair with a towel, lost in his thoughts. He was on auto-pilot as he dropped the towel onto his bed, and settled himself onto the mattress. Unconsciously, his fingers twisted in the still damp tangles of his hair.

Why had they brought him back to Hogwarts? They couldn't possibly think that he would be safer here, could they? Voldemort had already inflitrated the school, so thinking that it was as impenetrable as Wizarding Britain seemed to think that it was, was a rather stupid move. Of course, perhaps that was the answer in itself: Voldemort was still on the loose, still causing havoc, still terrorizing, still killing. They probably just wanted their ace-in-the-hole back. As long as they had Harry Potter, they could defeat the Dark Lord.

He gave a short bark of laughter at the thought, and it rang loudly in the stillness of the sleeping dorm. This was enough to stir one Seamus Finnegan from his sleep, and the other boy cracked his eye open to find Harry sitting in lotus position on his bed. With his eyes still glazed in thought, Harry did not notice.

It was silly, really. Anyone could defeat Riddle, they only had to know how to do it. "What fools these mortals be," he murmured to himself, still amused at the thought. He would have failed had they set the Dark Lord on him a year ago. He hadn't had the knowledge of what it would take to defeat the self-styled Voldemort then. Of course, that had been then. This was the now, and now he knew how to do it.

And he would, too, if they would just let him leave the blasted school. Dropping his hand from his hair, he brushed calloused fingers across the cool leather strap around his throat. This was his binding, his prisoner's identification, his band of slavery. This thin piece of animal hide was the way that they had decided to keep him within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. While the wards on his arms were to seal his power away, the collar and chain around his neck were designed to bind him to the school itself.

In laymen's terms, he was an indentured servant of Hogwarts.

Seamus had pushed himself up into his own sitting position by this point, and was thinking about something that had come to mind the night before. With a frown he called out to his dormmate, "Harry?"

The softly spoken work drew him out of his thoughts, "Hmm?"

"Did you sleep wearing that collar? Wasn't it uncomfortable?"

The young Potter chuckled dryly, "Extremely. Unfortunately, I don't have the ability to take it off. Damn thing is keyed to The Royal Ass, The Queen Demon, and the Dark Traitor's magical signatures."

At Seamus' questioning look, which was no doubt asking for the reason why Harry needed to wear such a collar, the Boy-Who-Lived smirked impishly. "The Ass is his royal majesty, he who cannot stand to not have his way, one Albus Dumbledore. The Queen is the she-bitch who licks at his heels, Minvera McGonagall, and the Traitor is, of course, Severus Snape."

If Seamus thought that Harry was going to be explaining the reason for the collar, he had another thing coming. He had been sworn to secrecy by the Old Man, and he took his vows and promises seriously. So of course Harry found something else to explain, even though it really explained nothing to Seamus. The Irish boy stared at him for a long moment with a frown, but Harry shrugged it off and pulled himself to his feet. As Seamus watched, Potter drifted out of the room without another word.

"Weird," Seamus muttered, then nearly jumped out of his skin when Dean's voice rang out.

"What, that Harry didn't answer you, or that he moves like a bloody wraith?"

The boy turned to face Dean and shrugged, though his expression was troubled, "Both, really."

* * *

"Harry!"

The sixteen year old raised his head from his contemplation of the Gryffindor common room's floor, only to find himself staring into a certain frizzy-haired brunette's eyes. He took a quick step back, a bit unnerved at the face that had suddenly appeared in his vision only a few inches from his nose. That she had managed to get so close to him was a surprise. That it was Hermione Granger was not.

"Hullo 'Mione," Harry drawled, his brilliantly green eyes half-lidded and giving him the appearance of still being half asleep. Once again the slave-chain had been tucked into his robe and slipped down his sleeve so he could wrap it around his wrist. Opposite of him, Hermione had her hands on her hips in the classic female 'I'm-pissed-off-at-you' pose.

"Where on Earth have you been, Harry? And don't call me Mione!"

"Places," He ignored her request in regards to the nickname, and gave her a lopsided, almost insane grin that looked even more creepy due to the fact that his eyes were almost fully closed now, and he was peering out at her through his eyelashes.

The young woman had to fight off a shiver. Some primal instinct, deep within was screaming an unworded warning of danger in her ear. It wanted her to back away, to get as far from Harry as possible; but Harry was her friend, and she'd be damned if she didn't get the information she wanted out of him. Her frown was deep, but she was making an attempt to keep her voice level and patient, "What sort of 'places', Harry?"

The strange smile was still on his face as he shrugged, "Places that I don't think you would like very much, 'Mione," and ignoring her next few questions, the Potter heir turned to stroll out of the common room much like he'd strolled out on Seamus' questions earlier in the day. He had almost gotten to the portrait when Hermione reached out and grabbed his shoulder.

"Please Harry, tell me. I was so worried!"

He tilted his head to one side, and his eyes glazed over for but a moment. Then he seemed to snap out of it, and he frowned at her. With a pat to her hand the frown became a sad smile, "Some things, Hermione, are better left unsaid." And then he was gone, leaving the girl to stare at his back.

She frowned to herself then, crossing her arms. There was no way, _no way, _that she was going to let Harry just get away without telling her. They were friends, good friends at that. She had always been willing to stand with him, to help him, and a year apart would never be able to change that in her heart. She was going to find out why Harry was acting the way he was come hell or high water!

* * *

When Severus Snape entered the Headmaster's Room, he was in for something of a nasty shock.

There was a man seated across the desk from Albus, and he was a far cry from young in any sense of the word. His beard was a dusty gray and sprinkled liberally with shots of black hairs, while his long gray hair was pulled back into a ponytail with a black tie. He had lost the majority of the hair off the top of his head. He was dressed in navy robes with silver trim around the wrists and collar, and a large oaken cane lay across his lap. A pair of sparkling lavender eyes peered up form the chair, and a soft chuckled left his lips, "Hello there, Severus."

"Wolfos," Snape ground out form between clenched jaws. Dumbledore clapped happily, and it was all Severus could do not to curse the blasted old fool.

"Ah, you do remember each other. Good, good," the even older headmaster grinned wryly at the both of them, "Do have a seat, Severus. Daemen has agreed to come out of retirement to become this year's DADA professor."

The older wizard smirked at the dark look that Snape shot him over that particular little tidbit of information. It wasn't fair that the blasted man got pulled out of retirement to take the position that Severus had wanted for himself.

"I've been told you took over potions, Severus. Quite a surprise, given how utterly pathetic you were with them."

And that would be why the Potions Master had despised Daemon Wolfos for so many years. While Daemon had primarily taught Defense Against the Dark Arts, he was also Horace Slughorn's favorite substitute when he need to go off to some high-too-do and fancy occasion during what should have been class hours. The older man had been in Ravenclaw at one point, and even James Potter had agreed that he would have fit in perfectly with certain Slytherin circles, given the way that he had taught his students.

Severus purposely ignored the fact that he was teaching his students in a similar manner, however Snape could honestly say that he was being a whole lot nicer than Wolfos had ever been.

Daemon Wolfos grinned a ruthless grin back at the dark looks he was receiving, then returned his attention to Dumbledore. Age had changed the man, but in Wolfos' eyes, Dumbledore was still the spectacular Transfiguration professor that he had grown up under. They had discussed a number of things as they had sat in the Headmaster's office, and the most important of these had been why Daemon hadn't arrived in time to be presented to the school during the Sorting Feast as was customary.

The old man had chuckled, simply mentioning something about getting into England late a night earlier, and then slept in. The result was completely missing the train of Hogsmeade, where he had planned to hike up to Hogwarts. Instead, he'd had to catch a later train, and when he had gotten to Hogsmeade it was already past midnight.

Finally, the stood and headed out of the office and towards the Great Hall. As they walked, something tickled in the back of Severus' mind. There was something that felt... off to him about Wolfos. When Dumbledore had turned away from Daemen there had been a strange look on the man's face. He was frowning darkly, and his purple eyes seemed to flicker here and there and yet not see anything.

The way he moved was familiar, too, but Snape just couldn't seem to place it. It was like had had seen it before, but only a few times, and that was hardly enough to recognize it.

Gryffindor House had once against settled themselves in for breakfast, this time with a slightly vacant, but no where near as pissed off, Harry Potter at the table. He had a firm grip on the end of the chain, which was humming and throbbing almost painfully in his had. Apparently it wanted to attach itself to the table as it had the night before. The 'captive' glowered at it for a moment, before he reached out with his free hand to snag a bun, and tore into it viciously just as Dumbledore, Snape, and Wolfos entered the hall.

Of course, no one knew who Wolfos was; he had retired shortly after Snape's class had graduated, citing that he needed a break especially given how intensive Defense classes had gotten after Voldemort's first rise. For this reason, all eyes were on the man as he headed to the Head Table alongside the Headmaster and the Potions Master.

Noting that he already had everyone's attention, Dumbledore smiled brightly, "As you can doubt see, we have a new resident of Hogwarts. This is Professor Daemen Wolfos, and he will be taking over the Defense Against the Dark Arts position this year. I do suggest that you all get to class promptly when you have him."

Wolfos smirked at the Houses, before his gaze swept over them, as though he were examining them all and deeming them utterly worthless. Lavender eyes met emerald, and Harry half lifted his bun in a salute. Wolfos' smirk widened into an almost sadistic grin. This would be a fun year, Daemen and Harry thought as one. A fun year indeed.

Shivers ran down the spines of everyone in the hall.

* * *

original note: End Chapter

Next chapter the reactions of the students to their new DADA professor's way of teaching.

Not to mention a bit of information about the wards Harry has to wear. If you want something similar to what the wards Harry wears do, think of Hiei from Yu Yu Hashuko. grins

October 16, 2007: I need to get ready for class. That said, the revision for chapter two has finally come to pass. I meant to do this on the third, but these things, they happen. Mostly just some sentences reworked, some grammar and spelling mistakes fixed (and others made!). God, I can't believe it's been five years since I started this monster. See you next revision. 


	3. Confusion

October 17, 2007: revisions again.

original note: Okay, so I guess I lied when I said that you shouldn't expect a sort of day-to-day update thing. I'm not sure if this chapter is longer or not, but... oh well!

I figure the only times I have to work on this are Friday-Saturday-Sunday. Which means postings on Saturday-Sunday-Monday. My weeks are overly busy, this being the year I graduate and all.

I do believe this chapter will answer some of your questions on Wolfos... and create a whole bunch more -V

Anyhoo, I don't own Harry Potter, or any characters from the series, I never have, and I never will. I own Daemon, and I own all references to The Living Weapon, which is a novel I'm currently working on.

* * *

** Blackened Sunrise**  
_Chapter Three: Confusion_  
The Itch

* * *

Harry's bad attitude had returned with a vengeance not all that long into his first class of the year: Double Potions with Slytherin. It had started out alright, as Harry had decided that if he could just learn how to make a few healing potions (to be made well beforehand and then used in battle, of course) then Potions would be a nice class. He had resolved to actually pay attention this year, and maybe, just maybe, learn something. 

Neither Hermione nor Ron had given up on finding out where he had disappeared to, and they were getting fairly frustrated with his answers. This was probably because his answers were too vague to actually by answers: "places", "training", "you wouldn't like it there", and "a building" were his favorite answers, and the only one that even hinted as to what he had been doing was the "training" one. However, they had settled down for the class, and Snape had melted out of the shadows at the front of the room.

This was where Harry's attitude had taken it's turn for the worst. Because while he could fight the chain's compulsion to lock him into the Great Hall that morning, the spell to activate the had not actually been spoken. Good old Severus Snape had decided that unlike at breakfast, he was going to enforce the young Potter's stay in whatever way he could. So with a sour glare on the grumpy sixteen year old, the Potions Master muttered the spell.

"_Subiungo catena_," it was quiet enough that his classmates hadn't heard the words, but Harry knew them unfortunately all too well. And he knew what the reaction of the chain would be even before it uncoiled from his wrist and shot out from his sleeve to attach to the table. Harry's eyes blazed with fury as he glared across the classroom at his latest tormentor, his teeth bared in an animalistic growl.

He knew it would do no good, but still he wrapped his hand around the chain and yanked on it in a futile attempt to get it to let go. These actions had the unfortunate side effect of bringing the attention of his classmates to the chain itself, and the whispers started up.

Draco Malfoy just could not take it. He just had to make a comment: "Well, well, well. You're an animal now, Potter. Always knew you needed to be chained up."

Those blazing green eyes turned from the Professor to the Slytherin Prince, and Harry's response was low and growled, "Go fuck yourself, Malfoy."

Red in embarrassment and his own rising fury, Draco opened his mouth to respond, but Snape beat him to it, "Potter! Twenty points from Gryffindor!" And for once it seemed that he actually had found a legitimate reason for taking the points off of Gryffindor.

That did not, however, stop yet another low, furious growl to slip past Harry's lips as he turned his attention back to the Professor. Harry did not, however, say anything else as he settled back down into his chair. One hand was still wrapped around the end of the chain attached to the table, and he was fighting to keep his expression neutral. His classmates shivered at the empty, almost glassy look in Harry's eyes, and forced themselves to pay attention to the lesson.

Harry wasn't paying attention quite yet. No matter how much he had promised himself to do so, some things took precedence in his mind. And right now, that was his plans for later: Malfoy was going to regret his words. Oh yes. Nothing was going to stop Harry from his newfound goal. He was going to get the insufferable brat back for everything that had happened over the years they'd known each other. There was nothing else to say about it.

Except, perhaps... "fun".

* * *

As the students shuffled into his classroom, Daemen watched them like a hawk. Class would be starting in only a few scant minutes, and it was a mix of Slytherin and Gryffindor sixth years. He had learned about one Harry Potter's little "problem" from the other teachers, and had been quite amused to hear the story of what had happened in Potions the day before. Harry had been in such a foul mood for the rest of the day that he'd been snapping, literally snapping his teeth, at anyone who so much dared to mention the chain. 

Even his housemates.

The Professor began to stand to begin the lesson when Harry himself entered the classroom, and flashed him a grin. His green eyes were glinting as he mouthed, "I tried to warn them..." before sprawling across his chosen seat. Wolfos' own grin widened, and his lavender eyes sparkled with glee. This would be _fun. _

He stepped out from behind the large wooden desk and padded into the center of the classroom, and began his introduction speech with a surprisingly silky voice: "Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts, Year Six. As you already know, I am Professor Daemen Wolfos. If you dare to call me anything but Professor, I will gladly gut you." This was his only warning to the class before he began to ask questions on what they had been studying over the past five years. He almost spat in disgust; they didn't know anywhere near what they could have for their age.

Back when he'd first been teaching, they had learned a lot more than what these little idiots knew now. Oh he understood that they had had multiple teachers, and that their second year professor was less than worthless, but that none of the teachers had even bothered to try and teach what the students needed to know? Had they not even tried to fill in the massive gaps in the instruction these children had received? Though that may have been, in part, due to the fact that the majority of those idiot "professors" hadn't even bothered to leave notes for the next instructor to find.

In fact, the only one that he knew of that had done anything of the like was Remus Lupin. He had always liked that boy; he was a dangerous sort, but one who kept it so well hidden. That had always been the best kind, he'd thought back then, and even now. Though he wasn't a Potions Master on any level, he had been the first one at the school to make the Wolfsbane Potion for Lupin; mostly due to Horace's all-too-busy schedule.

However, Lupin had been three years earlier, and the fourth and fifth year teachers for these brats apparently didn't have a clue in hell how to teach DADA. At least to his expectations.

It was nearly twenty minutes into what Wolfos was mentally calling his remedial Defense class, when the door swung open to admit a strutting Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Well, strutting was probably not the right word for the lumbering steps of Crabbe and Goyle, but it certainly fit Malfoy and Parkinson' movements. They had learned that Wolfos had once been in Ravenclaw, and by all rights of logic, that meant that he wouldn't _really _hurt them if they were late.

They had, of course, missed his introduction.

Wolfos' eyes glinted; he had been waiting for this, ever since Harry and "told" him. He beckoned the Slytherin students into the classroom with one hand, and they grinned. They had already prepared a line about being asked to "Stay behind" in their last class as their defense. Unfortunately for them, they didn't get any such chance.

"Attack."

And suddenly the group of four were blown backwards, slamming hard into the wall behind them. Their skulls pounded and they could barely hear past it as they slid to the ground, but they could stare up at the professor in confusion. So, too, could the class. In fact everyone in the room was staring at Wolfos in confusion-- except for one. The sixteen year old drew himself to his feet and smiled a bit vacantly. There was less than even the normal amount of sanity that he had been carrying around for the past few days.

The chain was around his wrist. Wolfos hadn't bothered to tie him down to a table like the others.

Daemen frowned, stepping over the bodies of his classmates in order to lift Malfoy up by his robe front. Tilting the blonde's head forwards, the frown deepened: "That wasn't nearly as hard as it should have been."

Harry stepped between the seats of his classmates and moved closer to the scene of the "attack". His smile had slipped as he came closer, and he seemed to be getting angrier with every step. By the time he had reached Wolfos, he was trembling with suppressed rage, and flinched slightly at the heavy hand that came down on his shoulder.

"Calm down, boy," was the low growl unheard by everyone except for those two closest to him: Harry and Draco. "Take these four down to the infirmary, then return. Immediately. I do not need you missing more of this lesson, is that understood?"

"Sir." Harry inclined his head before turning to the four nearly comatose students. "_Mobilicorpus_."

After watching Harry and his baggage leave, Wolfos turned his attention back to his unharmed students. "What just happened to those four is a warning. Never be late to my class. Ever. Do you understand?" at the stunned, slow nods, Daemen smiled brightly, "Good, good. Now, as I was saying, we will just have to compress six years worth of material into your woefully inept brains all in one year..."

* * *

Draco was the first one to come fully back into reality. The Slytherin shook his head out a bit, and then frowned as he realized that he was following along behind Potter of all people. The other sixteen year old's chin-length black hair was curled and twisted oddly, having dried into the curls he'd made while tangling his fingers into it that morning. He was humming an odd little tune to himself, and Malfoy opened his mouth to say something biting. Harry beat him too it. 

"You're lucky the wards were there, Malfoy."

"...uh...?" and now he was confused.

Harry spun about on his heel, and began walking backwards. The expressions that had haunted his face for the past few days were gone, and the eyes that stared back at him weren't Harry's normal green. In fact, they weren't green at all; they were the color of cold steel, and his face was blanked of all expression. A shiver ran down Malfoy's spine, "P-p-potter...?"

"Correct and incorrect," his voice was a soft, flat monotone, giving the impression that he was under the Imperious Curse. He was perfectly emotionless, and seemed to be staring through Draco, not at him. It was a fairly frightening position for the Malfoy heir to be in, and he had never before seen anything like the way that Potter was acting.

"How can I be 'correct and incorrect'?" Draco barked, choosing to ignore the fear that was slowly curling in his stomach. Harry's expression didn't change, but those chilling steel eyes focused on him now, and Draco got the feeling that he had done something wrong.

Then the green leeched back into his eyes, brightening at a rapid rate back to his normal avada kedavra shade and the vacant smile returned. "Many, many, many ways. Many ways," he sung cheerfully, spinning around again and picking up speed as they headed forwards, "To Pomfrey we will go, to Pomfrey we will go Broken bodies and split scalps, to Pomfrey we will go!"

Draco watched with no little amount of confusion as the seemingly insane boy skipped ahead, singing his macabre song. As he was facing Harry's back he wasn't able to see the devious smile that had crossed the teenager's face. As soon as he could get those damned wards removed, oh then... then he would have some real fun.

But first, he had a new professor to speak with.

* * *

As the class filed out in silence, the young Potter kept to the back of the group. He came to a halt in front of Wolfos' desk, where the older man was writing a note to himself. He was grumpy and annoyed; these damn brats didn't even know a good lesson when they had one! 

"Old man?"

Daemne gave the boy a sour look, "If I have to tell you one more damned time not to call me that you little idiot...!"

"Sorry sir," Harry shrugged, not apologetic in the slightest, and hopped up onto the desk, "I've got a spare right now, and I want to talk."

The Defense Professor frowned as he straightened up from his slump to look the boy square in the face. Lavender eyes were hard and cold, but a faint sparkle of glee hovered in their depths, "Oh? What about?"

"These bloody things!" and with that half snarled proclamation, he yanked his sleeves up around his shoulders to reveal the rune studded leather bands around his upper arms. Wolfos leaned into give them a good look over, his frown turning puzzled as he studied the runes.

"By all the rings of hell!" he spat suddenly, "I would never have thought of that!"

"Thought of what, sir?"

The older wizard leaned back and slumped carelessly into his hair. From hooded eyes he watched the boy in front of him. Harry face was shadowed by the way his hair fell into it, and his green eyes appeared to be little more than glowing crystals in the depths of that shadow. Potter wasn't looking at Wolfos, though. He was staring at the leather armbands he was forced to wear.

"Merlin's on bran of magic runes, you twit. Somehow they decided that they were going to block your 'wandless' magic with these things. Unfortunately, with Merline's Runes controlling it, there is little way for you to work around him. That bloody prick was one of the strongest Order ever created!"

Harry frowned, "So they prevent me from casting? That's bloody annoying." he brightened slightly, "But it doesn't prevent Weapon from getting free. Malfoy woke up and had a conversation with him."

The professor groaned and rubbed his forehead, "How many god be damned times do I have to tell you that 'Harry' and 'Weapon' are THE SAME BLOODY PERSON?!?!"

"Different personalities, different people!" Harry chirped with a grin.

Daemon considered smacking his forehead into his desk, but generally preferred to reach over and smack Harry a good one, while he muttered something sour about training absolute morons. Why had he taken this thrice damned job on, anyways? Still grumbling under his breath, and steadily cursing his best friend from his school days for getting him into this mess in the first place, Wolfos stood and began to pace. After several moments of making dire threats against dead people, he finally turned back to his number one student.

"If you're expecting me to take you again from Hogwarts, forget it, Boy."

Potter jumped to his feet, once more snarling like a caged animal and began to circle his pacing teacher, "What do you mean you're not taking me again? Isn't that why you're here?!"

"I accepted the job to teach at the end of the last school year, idiot. I expected to take you here with me, but it seems like Severus did my job for me," at Harry's dark look, Daemen gave a bark of laughter, "Oh yes, I heard all about your little mess up. And don't expect that you won't be sufficiently punished for it, either. Now, get down to the library."

"...Sir?" Harry was confused at this sudden shift in the conversation. What was Wolfos up to? Potter knew that the man was devious, and that he had used several of his more... how to put it... more unsavory tactics in order to force Harry to do what he wanted during their training.

Of course, Wolfos was also just a sadistic bastard that got a kick out of torturing kids, Harry grumped mentally. He knew better than to say something like that out loud, however. He had been living with the old man in the Workshop for over a year, after all. The man was like a second father; or something like that, anyways. He was always pushing Harry to be the best...

"You are going to the library," Wolfos continued, smiling in a decidedly unhealthy for Harry way, "and you are going to be doing a little research for me. I want you to look up everything you can on Merlin's Runes. I want you to test their boundaries. I want you to do better the next time I command you to attack someone, goddammit!"

"Sir." Harry bowed sharply to the man, all traces of his less than sane side vanishing. When he stood, his eyes were once again that cold, glinting steel color, before he turned and glided out of the room. Daemen stopped pacing and sunk down into his chair, fingers clenching into his hair.

Sighing heavily, he pulled a silver flask out of his robes and grinned a bit ruefully as he downed a bit of muggle vodka. It always did jolt him out of a slump, he thought with a bit of a chuckle. Stretching, he kicked his feet up onto his desk and contemplated what had just happened. His grin faded after a moment.

They would have to work on that. The shift from "Harry" to "Weapon" was smooth and perfect, there was no problem there. What was the problem was Harry's insistence that "Weapon" was a different person, and entirely different soul. That was just stupid, Wolfos thought, two souls could not co-exist in the same body. Over time, one or the other would become stronger, and the weaker soul would fade away and die. "Weapon", if he was truly a different person, couldn't have possibly survived sixteen years locked within Harry's body, having been created when he had "destroyed" Voldemort back when the idiot boy had only been ayear old.

No. Weapon was definitely the same person as Harry.

* * *

End Chapter 

original note: And so we begin to get into the plot. salutes Here's to those who can figure it out on the vague things I've said so far!

October 17, 2007: ...if you answered Horcrux to the above question, please rethink your answer and consider that the first chapters of this story was written before OotP came out. Remember kids, always check the publish and update dates of something before you answer a question like this :)


	4. Books

October 18, 2007: mmm, revisions...

original note: This isn't my greatest chapter. I've been doing Exponental Functions and Logarithmic Functions at school, so I've been more occupied by my crappy mathematics than with writing this. Oh well...

Notes on Living Weapon; it's unlikely that I'll post it here, on I MAY allow some readers of this to get a preview of it, however. I want to get Living Weapon published; I've been working on off-and-on it for about four years now. I've got the entire thing planned out, and a few scattered scenes here and there... I just have to connect the scenes. It's an exhausting process, you know.

Bleh, back on track, this is a Harry Potter fic not a "discuss Living Weapon" forum. :P

The Itch doesn't own Harry Potter. This is the fourth time I've typed that, too.  
The Itch DOES own Daemen Wolfos, however. Wolfos is her sadistic little wolf-pup.

* * *

**Blackened Sunrise**  
_Chapter Four: Books_  
The Itch

* * *

Weapon had entered the library and was half-way to the Restricted Section before his eyes and expression returned to "normal". Harry stopped for a long moment, blinking in confusion as he tried to piece together what had just happened. When he did, he made a face-- he hated it when Daemen pulled that trick!

He figured that Merlin's Runes would be in the Restricted Section, as he'd never seen anything like them before. Not to mention that the blasted things all but hummed with the combined force of McGonagall's, Snape's, and Dumbledore's magic signatures. They had each pour a little bit of their own life forces into the runes to ensure that the spells would work. Spells such as that were considered strictly forbidden, and in many cases illegal, due to the possibility that one could put too much of their energy into the spell.

The end result being the death of the caster.

Moving in a way that was more suited to a wraith than to a human boy, Harry Potter brushed his fingers along the thick tomes near the back of the section. Books on the Dark Arts-- and oh, wasn't it a stupid idea to keep them where an intelligent student could find them, he scoffed, even as he tucked a couple into the crook of his arm-- books on dangerous creatures and how to tame them, books on illegal potions, and ah! Here it was. Books on illegal and forbidden runes.

And right there, like it had just been waiting for him to come and discover it, was a tome on Merlin's Runes.

"Must be the one they used to figure out the spell," he muttered to himself, carefully working it free of the over-packed book shelf. A glance around to ensure he didn't have any pesky little watchers was followed by quickly shoving the books he'd picked up into a bag that he had pulled out of his robe. With his task complete, he hummed a jaunty little tune to himself, and walked out of the Restricted Section. When he was once more in the "legal" section of the library, he tucked the back into a small alcove and promised them that he would come down to pick them up that night.

He was just about to leave the home of the books, when someone called his name. Turning, the Potter boy found himself face-to-face with the ever inquisitive Hermione Granger, "Mione?"

"I've been looking everywhere for you, Harry!" she huffed, but her eyes were bright and her lips were twitching in an attempt not to smile, "I wanted to ask you why you stayed behind to talk with Professor Wolfos."

"The old man asked me to take the Junior Moldywarts Kissers to Pomfrey, remember?" Harry seemed oblivious to his slip-up, but Hermione had most certainly caught it, and in return gave him a wide-eyed stare. Wolfos was vicious-- she had done a little bit of checking up on him right after class, and had found that there were records of all his detentions on file. Most students from his previous classes had called them "torture sessions." Harry, it seemed, just continued on without a care, "So I was just telling him what Pomfrey told me."

"And what was that?"

"That he needs to be more careful with his students," Harry shot her a lopsided grin, "Although what she said was a bit more... colorful."

"I'll bet," Hermione mused, half to herself and half to Harry. His little slip-up on the Professor's name was being added to the list of strange things that he had done in the short time since he'd returned, and this one just seemed to beg the question of whether or not he was attempting to commit suicide. However, before she could ask him anymore questions, she was going to have to put the effort into finding him again. While she had been lost in her thoughts, the young Potter had slipped out of her metaphorical grasp, and vanished into the halls of Hogwarts.

That was another thing to add to her list. Where the hell had he learned how to be _Batman?_

* * *

With night having fallen, a certain steel-eyed and black haired youth stole out of Gryffindor Tower. He was, as he had so often been in the past, cloaked in the Invisibility Cloak that had once belonged to his father, and beneath that he wore his collection of weaponry and muggle clothing. With his feet clad only in black socks, he glided soundlessly down the halls in the direction of the library._  
_

Weapon was dangerous when he was awake, Harry knew that. But he figured that it was the best way to get what he wanted out of the library. His other half, of which was arguably the better half simply due to the fact that Weapon wasn't insane, was a silent, deadly predator. Just like had been taught to be.

Merlin's Runes stopped him from accessing his full power, and hopefully the research he had been instructed to look into would do something to help him break through them. Then, and only then, would he be able to wreak some havoc on his unsuspecting captors. Weapon only listened to one man, and _that_ particular man just so happened to be the one to have released him from his confines: Daemen Wolfos. And even then, Wolfos' commands tended to be more like suggestions to the steel-eyed boy. Weapon was very well aware that he had the power to utterly destroy the older wizard. He didn't simply because of their relationship.

Harry supposed that the relationship between Weapon and Wolfos would have been the one he had with James, had the man lived past that fateful Halloween night.

Weapon's calm, easy stride became a rough ground-eating one as his insane side thought idly of James Potter. To think of James meant to think of Voldemort, and to think of Voldemort ultimately came down to the reason why Weapon had come to the fore in the first place, all those years ago.

Voldemort would get what was coming to him, Weapon decided firmly, and his followers would fall and die in a blaze of pain and fire and death. When he realized the particular turn of his thoughts, Weapon tightened his control. Weapon did not have emotions. It was impossible for him to.

Weapon was just as his name implied; he was a weapon of mass destruction. He was all of Harry's darkness, brought shockingly to life through the power of the killing curse some fifteen years earlier. Weapons did not have emotions, and therefore, nor could the man named for them. His other half was leeching into him, he understood, and roughtly shoved Harry's mental projection away from him. The insane child could come forwards after they had retrieved the books from the library.

_This was your idea_, Weapon scolded Harry when he imagined the other pouting at him. It never worked, so why did he bother? Ah, the insane. He would never understand one of them, although their antics were certainly amusing.

The door to the library was unlocked, as per usual. Weapon wondered if any of the teachers even cared that anyone could just walk in and pick up books on the Dark Arts. He supposed not; they were all too trusting in the students. It was as thought they couldn't realize that to a student rules were made to be broken.

Weapon did not care for rules. In fact, Weapon made the rules. He bent and broke any rule made by others whenever and however he saw fit. No one was allowed to bend him to their will, which only brought his thoughts back to one absolutely frustrating piece of knowledge. Oh how he would get his vengeance on the "Royal Ass" and his entourage. How dare they subjugate him!

He had no will to rule anyone, nor did he wish to destroy the muggles. There was no desire for any such nonsense. What he wanted was for people to acknowledge him. He wanted them to know that Weapon existed, to know that any danger to Harry Potter meant death. If it was not an instant end, then their suffering would only be prolonged until they were struck down when they were a paranoid little snot.

The half of him that was Harry laughed gleefully at these thoughts, adding in his own little bits and pieces. He didn't want to be the "Boy-Who-Lived", he didn't want to be the savior or sacrifice of the Wizarding World. He simply wanted to be Harry Potter. Though perhaps being known as the most insane Wizard outside of Azkaban would be fun, too.

Azkaban... Weapon bent and hauled out the satchel containing his books... that reminded him. He had to go and send a letter off to Sirius. Even during his time being shaped and broken and reshaped by Wolfos' methods, Harry had done his best to keep in contact with the fugitive Animagus. He wouldn't allow any harm to come to Sirius.

He had already dealt with seven threats to Sirius' life without his godfather knowing about it.

Sometimes, Weapon thought, with laughter ringing through his thoughts as he shifted back into Harry outside the library doors. Sometimes it was nice to be insane. People always said the most... interesting of things when they thought that you weren't coherent enough to remember any of it.

His cackling, insane laughter echoed through the halls, lingering in the air. By the time that Filch had gotten there, Potter was gone, and only the memory of his laughter was enough to say that someone had once been there.

* * *

Outside, Harry dropped himself into a seat in the garden, and admired the still shapes. It was always so interesting to sit out under the moonlight and watch nature as it passed him by. Things were so different at night; sharp shapes became menacing with only the soft and pale light of the moon to wash over them. Soft shapes became silken, while things perceived as friendly in the light of day turned dark and horrifying.

Harry loved it.

He tapped his wand against his chin, half muttering the light charm _lumos _before he hauled out his books. First was the book on Merlin's Runes; he would be unable to cast any Dart Art spells until the wards were gone, so that was first priority. He had tried so many mundane means, but apparently some of those runes were to protect against using muggle means to tamper with them.

It was bloody frustrating, that's what it was, Potter thought to himself as he idly flipped the book open to a dog-eared page. He tilted his head to one side and pointed his want at the book's pages as he read. A frown crossed his face, and he flipped though a few more pages of the thick tome. Well now, this was unexpected. It wasn't something that was truly unusual, simply... unexpected.

It was written in a dialect of old Norse; obviously, Merlin hadn't wanted just any old wizard to be able to read his books. Thank the gods that he had opted for Ancient Runes this year. Perhaps he could use one of his text books in order to translates it. It was doubtful, and he was annoyed that he would most likely have to learn a new language just to be able to read the research materials, but these things happened.

If he always dwelled on the bad things, he would never get anywhere. Somewhat brusquely, he snapped the book shut and sighed before tucking it back into his satchel. Following that, he dropped his chain into his palm, and he propped his elbow up on his knee.

He could always train now, he supposed. Figuring out what the book said would take quite a bit of time and effort. Grumbling at his misfortune, he tossed his satchel to the side and stepped away from the bench that he had chosen for his seat. Green eyes bleached to their cold steel gray, and he pulled off his shirt. He didn't need it to be getting covered in sweat as he worked.

And then...

Then he danced.

* * *

End Chapter

October 18, 2007: No original notes at the end of this chapter. In random news, I apparently have an astigmatism. This explains quite a bit about my life, and I will be getting glasses. Go me. More to come as I work on the revisions throughout BS. I hope you're enjoying version 2.


	5. Connections

October 19, 2007: Spelling and grammar and all that fun stuff.

original note: I think I'd be in worse shape if I'd gotten drunk last night.

Thankfully, there wasn't any alcohol at Silent Dragon's place, so we were perfectly fine. And now I'm really tired, because I had five hours worth of sleep. 

The question of Split Personality versus two souls... will be answered in another chapter. I'll let you guys guess. As for Harry and Wolfos creeping me out... not really. Then again, I am writing it, so I already know why they both act that way :P

Norse Ancient Celtic language. It's mostly written in runes. I can read a bit of it without my handy-dandy translation book, but not a whole lot. Norse is also a religion, which makes sense since more of the runes are named for gods (Odin, Tyr, Frei, Loki, etc). Actually, that's how I got into Norse; the old legends and mythologies. I'm a HUGE mythology buff.

* * *

**Blackened Sunrise**  
_Chapter Five: Connections_  
The Itch

* * *

The sun had risen over an hour earlier by the time that Weapon finally sheathed the foot long dagger at his hip. His face was blank of all emotion, his cold steel eyes staring off into space as he considered life. Things, people, himself... everything had changed over the year that they had spent apart. 

He didn't seem quite as... in sync with Ron and Hermione as he had before, and he pondered on the difference. It was rational, and more than feasible, that should friends spend twelve months apart that things would change between them. That was life; the only constant in the universe was change. Everything and everyone changed over time. A year ago, he would have felt at home, at ease with his two longtime friends.

Now, though... now he felt as though they were but children while he had grown into an adult. Had the training brought about this change? He didn't know for certain.

The warrior slipped off his left gauntlet, carefully ensuring that the blades that were tucked between metal and skin did not draw blood by accident. His arm felt strange without it's comforting presence; at one time, when he had first begun to wear it, it had felt strange. It had been heavy and uncomfortable, a weight that threw him off when he lifted his arms. Over time, however, it had become something of a second skin, and without the extra weight, or the rigidity of the metal, his arm felt flimsy and loose. He only ever took the gauntlets off to bathe.

Now, however, he had removed it in order to stare down at the simple tattoo nestled on the side of his wrist. There was a matching tattoo on his other hand, identical in all ways. Five triangles sat neatly together, barely an in diameter; all were a faded blue with a black line around them, and the patterned they formed marked him as a Living Weapon. One triangle was tipped on it's corner so that it's base lay adjacent to his fingers. The other four were arrayed around it as though they were claws extending from a paw.

He was not the only one to bare the marking, he knew. He had met one of the others before, but he couldn't her... them. Naginata, with her ice colored emotionless gaze, pale of skin and hair could send shivers down the spines of even the most vicious of men. She had once been a muggle, taken into the fold and changed beyond all belief. In fact, all of the others had once been muggles, taken in by an older class of the Living Weapons; an older, flawed version. Ones that were finally dying away. These older Weapons had experimented on the newest generation; after all, the process needed to be... perfected, did it not?

Naginata had been the perfect weapon. Not only had she been unable to express emotions, she had been unable to feel physical pain. There was nothing short of death that would stop her from pushing onwards with completing her goal. Unfortunately for her, death had been her end; she had died of blood loss from an unfelt wound not long after Weapon had met her. The gauntlets he wore had once been hers.

It was a way to honor the dead, he supposed, although he didn't truly feel anything of the sort. Honor, after all, was the way to be trapped into eternity.

Insanity was the way to freedom.

Therein lay the real reason behind why Weapon disliked his fellow Living Weapons so much. They were nothing but empty shells; no longer human they were simple creatures without thought. Somewhat like golems that way, only capable of doing what their masters had commanded them to do.

Weapon cracked a rueful grin as he swept his cloak up and around his shoulders, and his eyes began to brighten into Harry's familiar green. He had been well on the way to that himself, Harry thought with some amusement as he tugged the heavy gauntlet back into place, and once more hiding the marking that both damned and freed him. He began a quick jog to put some distance between himself and where Weapon had been practicing.

He would have been just like those shells, were his thoughts, had there not been one tiny little complication with his transformation into being one of the Livign Weapons. He had called out to the power of the weapons as a child, or so Daemen and he had assumed from their research; called out to it the night that his parents had died. He had used that tremendous power to defeat Voldemort, and then left Weapon dormant within himself for fourteen and a half years. It had taken Wolfos to pry the steel-eyed youth out of Potter's mind.

Daemen Wolfos was not a Living Weapon, though he had been friends with one since his own school days. At the insistence of his friend,Wolfos had taken the boy into his Workshop and coaxed Weapon out of the shadows. The price for the Living Weapon had been high, however; the host mind, _Harry's_ mind, had been locked away in the back of Weapon's head for eight months. It had been a boring existence.

"Oh look, if it isn't Potty."

For a moment, Harry wondered if Malfoy thought up his insults on his own. If he didn't, he really needed to get a new writer.

Draco had never thought of his own gray gaze as unnerving until he had seen that oh-so-blank stare of Potter's the other day. It had sent shivers down his spine when it had been directed at him, however he had decided that he wasn't going to let some stupid little thing like Potter's color-changing eyes bother him. No sir. Still, he found himself breathing a small sigh of relief that he wasn't being faced with that strangely emotionless Harry James Potter.

"Hello Malfoy," Harry's response was surprisingly cheerful, not only to Draco himself, but to the rest of the students in the hall around him. Harry wasn't exactly sure when he had gotten to deep into the castle, but that was alright. He had just been on his way back to the Gryffindor Tower in order to snag a quick shower, not to mention his robes, when he had been sidetracked by the Malfoy heir. Everyone else around them was already headed down to get their breakfasts.

Harry continued on towards the tower, ignoring Malfoy's suddenly fierce gaze. Over his shoulder he called, "When did you want me to schedule your ass-kicking?"

He had honestly wanted to say 'death', but thought that not really the Gryffindor style. He wasn't about to let anyone find out that he was a Weapon just yet. Hell, of those that even knew of the Living Weapons, six were muggles and three were wizards. There was no one else. And so Harry refrained from using the answers that Wolfos had basically programmed into him, and smiled psychotically at the pale haired teenager.

"Ass-kicking?" scoffed Malfoy, "That's doubtful, Potter. I know more spells than you could ever possi--"

"Who said anything about spells?" the green eyed youth interrupted as he began to pace around Draco. The Slytherin felt himself freeze up, his gray eyes widening as he watched the Gryffindor's unnerving attitude. Harry clucked his tongue, hissing lowly, "I could kill you in a dozen different ways, you know, and not one of them use magic." He f;ashed his teeth in a disarming grin, those avada kedavra green eyes boring into his soul and seeing at that could be seen within. And then... he was gone.

Just... gone.

Malfoy, however, was shivering. A fine tremble, one so fine that only he noticed it, had run down his spine and taken control of his body. He had felt as though a hand had been clenched around his heart: Potter had said nothing about defeating him. No, the Golden Boy had only spoken of killing him, using soft words and body language, he had threatened the Slytherin Prince in an all too real way.

And suddenly, the sixteen year old son of Lucius Malfoy got the impression that he had pissed off the wrong person one too many times. Screw Voldemort, his Death Eaters and everything that came with it, Malfoy decided abruptly.

The thought of seeing those frighteningly bright eyes, glaring down at him, laying his soul bare before the world... it was ten times scarier now than even having to see those soulless gray eyes looking through him with frightening intensity. Draco did not want to have them turned on him in anger even for one more second. There had been a message held in those eyes. A message promising a death most painful.

For the moment that Draco did something to piss the Potter heir off one more time, he would be on the list of people who would die. He currently had a chance to survive this... this... this lethal sociopath that Dumbledore had brought into Hogwarts. He just needed to think about things, arrange things. There was much to be done.

* * *

Hermione had watched the confrontation from start to finish. 

The sight of one Draco Lucius Malfoy, the generally accepted Head Prat of Hogwarts, staring off into nothingness with terrified eyes had been shocking. More shocking had been the fact that it had been Harry-- _Harry!_-- who had been the cause of that look. Hermione would have put money down on the thought that the only one who could have possibly cowed the arrogant Malfoy being You-Know-Who himself.

She stood there for a long time, confused and trying to piece together a puzzle that only grew exponentially with every piece.

Harry had vanished for a year.

He had changed, far more than she had estimated he would.

He gets way with calling Daemon Wolfos "Old Man".

He does whatever Wolfos tells him to do, without a single word of complaint.

Harry vanishes into thin air, regularly.

Wolfos vanishes into thing air, regularly.

She was beginning to see the connections. Wolfos must have been the one with whom Harry had been hiding away with for the past year. But why had he gone into hiding? Why did he always tell her that she had been "places" and "training"? How in the world had he managed to frighten Draco so badly?

She had asked a few of the students closer to the confrontation what had happened to Malfoy, but not one of them had been close enough to hear whatever it was that Harry had told the Slytherin. Had Professor Wolfos been teaching Harry intimidation tactics? But why would he? Harry didn't need intimidation for anything! In fact, all he needed to do was ask someone, anyone at all, and more than likely they would do it for him. They would love him for it, too-- imagine, the Great Harry Potter asking them to do something for him!-- so why would he need to learn how to strike fear into people?

_What the bloody hell is going on here?!_

"Hey, 'Mione, are you going to stand there all day, or do you wanna grab something to eat?"

She gave a rather undignified shriek, leaping into the air. When she had landed, she whirled about to face the target of all her confusing thoughts, panting and clutching at her chest. Once her heart rate went down, she smacked him lightly, "Oh Merlin! You scared me, Harry!"

"Sorry 'Mione," the response was given with a lopsided grin. He made a motion down the fall in front of them, waggling his eyebrows, "C'mon, if we don't hurry, everyone will get to eat, but Ron'll have our portions!"

With that happy thought as his warning, he grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her down the passage towards the Great Hall. His stomach rumbled loudly, and Granger let a bubble of laughter finally push away her thoughts and started going along with Harry. She would get to the bottom of this mystery later. For now, all she wanted to do was sit and talk with her friend.

* * *

End Chapter 

original note: Draco may have seemed a bit... OOC in this chapter. That'll be explained later, maybe chapter six, maybe not. What can I say, he's my second favorite character (Remus is first).

October 19, 2007: And now that I've finished this chapter, I have some commissioned costumes to finish.


	6. Thoughts

October 23, 2007: ...I just read the note below this. Was I ever really that dorky?

original note: It's offical. I decided "Minority" by Greenday is the theme song for this. Doesn't it just fit?

grins More Draco-reformi-ness. Sorta. He's just kinda going in circles in his head.

No problem, Maxennce; I like talking about things other people don't know, so that I can educate them in the Way of The Itch.

Sounds like a martial art...

* * *

**Blackened Sunrise**  
_Chapter Six: Thoughts_  
The Itch

* * *

When Harry Potter and Hermione Granger joined Ron Weasley at the Gryffindor table nothing was wrong. Well, perhaps that is the wrong way to phrase that. There were a few whispers, wondering what it was that Potter had done to cause the young Malfoy to freeze up the way that he had. Other than that, it seemed that everyone was acting as though their interaction passed as "normal". There was the occasional nervous or wary glance among the normal adoring ones. 

That had been something of a shock to the population of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There were some girls that found the rings and piercings that decorated Harry's nose, lip, and eyebrow only served to make him look _more _appealing. In their minds, his twisted and tangled black chin length hair gave him a rebel look, and that his borderline psychopathic behavior had them blushing and giggling whenever he passed them. These girls were few and far between and happened to be in all of the houses, even Slytherin. They were generally lumped into a group that was considered to be completely off their rocker.

Harry generally ignored all of it, with previously unknown skill.

Yes, he could feel the gazes that lingered on his back, but he refused to allow it to bother him. Why should he? The only thing that mattered to the Living Weapon was the fight,a dn that was something that he knew was coming. It had to be, after all, why would Wolfos have had them both remain in the castle if there wasn't one coming? The only question was who the opponent would be.

Would it be Albus Dumbledore and all those that supported him?

Would it be Tom Marvolo Riddle and his little clique of racists?

He didn't know, and quite frankly he didn't really care. He would get rid of Voldemort, as that was set in stone and he refused to budge on the vengeance for his parents, but would he have to battle the old fool and his like? He was pretty sure that even after Voldemort was gone, Albus would not allow the young Potter to do as he wished and go where he wanted to. He would be forced into whatever the old headmaster thought would be the best for him, as it would be for Harry's "own good", after all.

He was so sick of everything being "for his own good". They just kept everything away from him, either expecting him to ignore and forget whatever it was, or for him to already know everything that he needed to know in order to function properly within society. Neither of which was actually happening. That was, in part, why he had agreed to go with Wolfos a year ago. The old Defense Professor had offered him a chance to do what he, what _Harry Potter_, had thought to be best, not what some old man who's only remaining talent seemed to be parlor tricks, thought was best.

"So Harry," Ron started with a lecherous grin, "are you going to go with anyone in the Harry Potter Fan Club?"

"I have a fan club?" Potter pondered with a raised eyebrow, causing the small blue bead on his eyebrow ring to catch the light and sparkle rather spectacularly. Harry, once had had managed to worm his way out of the back of Weapon's mind, had gone to get it pierced without Wolfos' knowledge. He could still remember the fit that Daemen had had when he realized that Weapon had gone out and 'mutilated' his body without his express permission. That was also when Wolfos had discovered that there were two people within the body of the boy: Weapon and Harry. Harry and Weapon.

"You didn't notice?" Hermione laughed, "For Merlin's sake, Harry! They've been following you everywhere since class started!"

"Eh?" He blinked a few times in confusion, before he realized just who they had to be talking about, "You mean The Stalkers?"

"I could hear those capitals!" Dean put it, "I thought they were call the Harry Potter Appreciation Society, but your title is pretty good."

"Well I certainly couldn't call them the Trepies," Harry answered cheekily, but even among the muggleborns, on the few understood the reference. He sighed and pouted a little. Really, Wizards needed to learn the joy that was video games. They had no idea what they were missing.

Harry, himself, hadn't been "allowed" to play Dudley's Nintendo, or Sega, or Playstation, but he had done it anyway. How were they supposed to know if he had been playing his fat oaf of a cousin's video games when they weren't around? He never saved any of his games, but then he had also had chances to play the entire thing through given how frequently they preferred to not be around him. Those games that he didn't manage to complete, he usually managed to get through a good chunk of them.

"What's a Trepie?" the redheaded teen gave his friend a strange look, "is it some kind of animal?"

Harry took pity on the boy, "It's the nickname of the people in the fan club for Quistis Trepe in Final Fantasy Eight."

Comprehension dawned, "Oh! In one of those Muggle Moveys, right?"

"Sure, sure," he really didn't feel like explaining to his friend what a Playstation or a video game was. However, before he could steer the conversation where he wanted it to go-- namely, away from himself-- Seamus decided to jump onto the bandwagon.

"So, which one, Harry? Arinae Delphi is pretty hot. Long legs, slim figure, brunette..."

"Personally," Dean waggled his eyebrows, "I like Hera Belladona. Now that's a witch with a chest!"

The other boys, excluding Harry who had decided to roll his eyes in exasperation, howled a couple of times, ignoring the stares from the other tables and the laughter from the few professors eating breakfast with them. Hermione, on the other hand, gave them all a sharp look, "Honestly, talking about that at the table!"

"Aw, c'mon," Seamus whined, laying his head pathetically on her shoulder, only to have it shoved off in short order, "We're just having having some fun, Granger."

Hermione's scowl only go darker, "Well I certainly don't want to hear it!"

"Relax Hermione," surprisingly, this came from Ginny, "they're just boys. They don't have anything in their heads except for their dicks."

"I resent that," Harry huffed indignantly, "I have other things on my mind than getting laid."

"Sure you do," chimed everyone else at the table. Harry's response was to cross his arms and pout. Now why did they all have to gang up on him like that? His silent question remained unanswered as his year mates broke into laughter.

* * *

He didn't know what it was, but there was something about Potter that freaked him out worse than any threat of the Cruciatus Curse had ever effected him. 

On the one hand was his newly designated "safer" Harry Potter. Those cold, blank steel colored eyes that would stare through you more often than they stared at you... but that was what you wanted. The intensity of that gaze was absolutely terrifying. That was the Harry that looked just so right in his wizarding robes. The black material was smooth over his body, sweeping the floor regally and without sound. There was never any sound with that creepy version of the teenager. In the two times that he had seen Harry like that-- the time when going to Poppy Pomfrey, and then watching him stalk through the halls towards Gryffindor Tower a few days earlier-- he hadn't heard a single sound. It was as though the other youth was under the ultimate silencing spell... if you could forget the fact that there wasn't any active magic on him.

It was strange really. Severus Snape was quite skilled in the same ability, and yet that wasn't as nearly pronounced as it was with Harry.

On the other hand there was the Harry that everyone else seemed to believe was the "normal" Harry. There was nothing _normal_ about that boy. The vivid shade of green that his eyes took almost seemed to glow, even during the daylight hours. At times he had wondered if they would glow in the dark as well, but he wasn't about to test his theory. That was an experiment that was far to dangerous for his tastes.

For while this Harry did not have the cold intimidating figure of his other side, _this _Harry was far from sane. Those eyes of his... he was positive that Potter was taking pleasure in how much he frightened others. He was positive that any threat that was made by that sociopathic wizard could and would be carried out. It may not happen immediately, but it would eventually happen, and more than likely when you least expected it.

This was the side of him that looked right at home in muggle outfits, the side who had the multitudes of piercings and that strange chain that was hooked through his dog collar. This was a person that he did not want to meet in a dark alley, even with his wand in hand and a curse on his tongue.

There seemed to be nothing left of the boy that he had so casually bullied when they started their time at Hogwarts. He was a completely different person, and somehow, Draco was the only one that had noticed. Well, perhaps Granger had seen it, but the Mudblood hadn't been on the receiving end of those changes just yet. It sent a chill down his spine just to think of it.

To think about how the truth rang in his words. The truth that Harry would not hesitate to kill him.

Harry Potter had changed so very much in the year he'd been gone, Draco had finally decided after spending two hours thinking on that fine Sunday morning. He had locked himself up into his dorm room, his arms crossed and his chin tucked in to think. Sitting like this, his legs crossed into lotus and settled into the center of his bed, had always helped him to calm down and think. And so he thought.

What would he do now? He knew that it was too dangerous to keep playing these games with Potter. That meant that there were two ways that he could go about dealing with this. The first method was the simplest: go to his father. From there it would get back to Voldemort... Draco could officially become a Death Eater and be granted that power and... and what? Get himself captured? Get killed in the field, or worse: sent to Azkaban? He wasn't stupid. He had seen the numbers of the dead for both sides of the conflict, as his fact liked to crow about just how many Aurors had gotten their "fool selves" killed, and ignore the fact that an equal amount of Death Eaters would never see their families again, either.

His second choice would be to go to Harry himself. Potter could kill him or not, if he went with this plan. He honestly didn't know. At least with Voldemort he knew what he was getting into. He would at least be taken in and marked. Draco hadn't done all that much to inspire faith in the Boy-Who-Lived, and would therefore have to start from scratch. Worse than scratch, actually. He would have to first make up for all that he had done to Potter over the years.

And therein lay the crux of his problem with that particular choice of action.

Could he give up his pride just to be considered Potter's... friend?... so that he wouldn't automatically get mowed down by the Aurors and Harry's own power when it came to that final battle?

This decision was driving him mad! And he couldn't just go to his father as he had so many times before, because his father's solution was all too obvious. He would be sent off to Voldemort and expected to return with the mark. Draco didn't know if he really wanted to do that. Hadn't he been raised not to bow to anyone, man or woman or dark lord? He had been taught that he was above everyone and everything around him. To bow to the Dark Lord's will seemed to go against everything that he had ever been taught by his father.

Bowing to Potter would do the same, but... but with Potter, with his friends or allies or whatever it was that he saw fit to call them... they were always seen as Potter's equals, weren't they? Harry would risk life and limb for those friends of him, while Voldemort would be content to sit on the sidelines and watch him die.

Raising his head with a long sigh, Draco drew himself up out of lotus, stretching and cracking his back. He couldn't make this decision right now; he needed far more time. This was, after all, a life changing decision. Once he had settled for one side or the other, well... he wouldn't be able to change his mind. There was no going back, especially if he was to turn to the side that was distinctly not his father's.

His stomach rumbled, and a faint blush tinted his fair cheeks. Thank Salazar that there wasn't anyone in the room with him. He would have been absolutely mortified if anyone else had heard it. He was supposed to have perfect control over his bodily functions, after all.

With that thought he climbed to his feet and unlocked the door to glide out into the hall in search of food. It was far too late for breakfast, and yet also too early for it to be lunch just yet. He would just have to go down to the kitchens and get one of the House-elves to make him something. Half out of habit, and half out of a desire to protect himself, Draco made sure three times that he had his wand with him.

There was no point in getting caught unprotected.

* * *

End Chapter 

October 23, 2007: Removed several lines of unnecessary description. Now I am going to bed.


	7. Choices

October 30, 2007: Revisions, ossu.

original note: -grins- Can you see my psycho-Harry-dear singing along to Godsmack?

Perhaps "Sick of Life"...? 

I actually saw The Philosopher's Stone yesterday. I've been trying to avoid it since it came out; apparently, I had good reason to do so. Silent Dragon (a friend of mine) and I watched it at her house. Neither of us could sit through it without pointing out all the problems (although, she grinned stupidly, and giggled whenever Severus showed up. She's obsessed.).

Halloween was interesting. SD went as a Death eater, and her cousin was Harry Potter. Although I think he would have made a better Draco Malfoy. He wouldn't have had to dye his hair then. But, any ways, we had a blast, wandering around, acting like drunks, and bellowing Christmas carols wherever we went. Can you see that? A death eater and a broken porcelain doll (me), staggering down the street, singing Christmas carols!

Er, well, ya'll should read the story, and not my stupid exploits on Halloween, that got snowballs thrown at us :P

The Itch owns nothing but anything pertaining to "Living Weapon" and Daemen Wolfos.

* * *

**Blackened Sunrise**  
_Chapter Seven: Choices_  
The Itch

* * *

He glared at the text, his teeth grit in frustration. Stupid book. 

Why couldn't it have been in an easier language to read? Say... Egyptian hieroglyphs? Old Norse was just... just a pain in the ass! That's what it was. And here he was, stuck with translating it all by himself. Stupid Daemon and his stupid refusal to help him translate the blasted thing. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that the reason behind Wolfos not translating the text for him was not, in face, because he "needed to learn some thing son his own" but because the old man couldn't read it, either.

Which all led to him being here: sitting in the middle of the Gryffindor common room, all wrapped up in the black and gold sheets that he had stripped off of his bed, and wearing only a pair of ill-fitting black sweat pants. The translation dictionary was centered in his lap, and the Rune book was open in front of him. To one side was the parchment and a muggle pen. He didn't want do deal with a quill and inkpot at the moment, for fear of spilling it on the Rune book. The only problem with the muggle pen was that the nib of the pen did not seem to like the leather of the parchment, no matter how thin it actually was. Despite that, he had still managed to scrawl a few translated pages across the parchment.

"Isn't it a bit late to be working on homework?"

Harry raised his head, those emerald eyes of his glowing brilliantly in the dim lighting. For a moment, he was unable to spy the speaker, but that was mostly due to the fact that the speaker was draped in an Invisibility Cloak. Once it had been removed, Potter simply turned back to his work. He wasn't exactly _surprised_ to see the Malfoy scion standing in front of him, staring curiously.

"What's this? You're not surprised to see me in your common room, Potter?"

"I could smell you," Harry murmured offhandedly. He really didn't want to deal with the Slytherin Prince right now, and to be honest, he couldn't have cared any less about the fact that said Slytherin Prince was in the Gryffindor commons. While he and Malfoy hadn't really gotten along, it would be fairly simple to remove the irritant from the common room should that become necessary. It wasn't like there was any love lost between them; they had never really gotten along. Not even when they had first met back in Madam Malkins, so many years ago. Not after Draco had opened his big mouth and insulted Hagrid, at any rate. Note to self, go see Hagrid, a part of Harry thought distantly.

Perhaps he had overestimated Malfoy's level of intellignece. He was pretty sure that his not-so-subtle threat from the morning before had registered in the other's teenager's head. "Why are you here, Malfoy? I'm sure it's not because Your Highness is feeling insulted by little old me, is it?"

A black eyebrow raised in some amusement as Draco visibly bit down on his tongue in order to keep the natural responding insult from coming out. Maybe he had noticed the message. One would have to be Crabbe and Goyle thick to have missed it, really. After a few moments of silence, Malfoy settled himself down on the floor where Harry had been working, directly across the books from the Boy-Who-Lived. He scrubbed at his forehead for a moment, before throwing his head back and staring up at the ceiling, "I've been thinking."

Potter's lips quirked, "Really? That _is_ pretty unusual."

A dark look was his response, before the other wizard's face paled, and he started shooting the pierced young man nervous looks. How... intriguing.

"Get on with it, Malfoy. I don't have all night." Hmm, I'm starting to sound like the professors. Note to self, glare fiercely at the next professor you see. It doesn't matter which one, though bonus points if it's Snape or McGonagall.

Draco looked like he was about to swallow his tongue, "I...Potter, that is... ah..."

"You're stuttering. I feel so special-- I haven't seen that since the Forbidden Forest, " mused the young man, his lips quirking dangerously even as Draco flushed with embarrassment of that particular memory. Would he ever manage to get out what he wanted to say? He had spent the past two days making this decision, and it was the longest time that he had spent on any decision before. Here he was, just moments away from a momentous occasion that would change his life forever, and Potter was _mocking_ him!

"Look Potter," Malfoy spat suddenly, "I don't know how to say this, but..."

"But?"

Bluish-gray eyes fixated on the wall above Harry's head, and his words came out in a tumbling rush, "Imsorryabouteverythingthatieverputyouthroughharryimwillingtostartoverifyouare!"

"Did you just... call me _Harry_?" his eyes were wide in surprise as he searched Draco's face, even as the other boy refused to meet his gaze. The red tone to his cheeks, however, said it all, "Good God, man! You did! You actually called me _Harry_!"

"Yes, I called you Harry," Draco's growl was through clenched teeth, "Don't go about making such a fuss out of it."

"Draco Malfoy, calling me by my first name?" Harry teased, eyes alight with glee.

"Yes, alright! Did you bother to hear any other bloody thing I said!?"

"I did," and suddenly all traces of his amusement vanished. Green eyes were quickly taken over by gleaming steel, and Malfoy felt the expected (but still unwelcome) feeling of relief flow over him. He could deal with this version of Harry. Those oh-so-dead eyes stared coolly into his own. "What are you up to, Malfoy...? What do you get from this play of being my... friend?"

Malfoy swallowed nervously. This was not the expected turn of events. Yes, he had known that he most likely would not have been accepted at face value, but he hadn't really come up with a solution to this particular question. Biting his lip, he wondered what he could say; what he _should _say and do. There was no one that he could ask for help on this, if he had ever deigned to ask for help in a situation like this one.

But hadn't he said that about apologizing before? And hadn't he just apologized for six years worth of flak, despite Harry not knowing very much about the past year?

"I..." his voice was a hoarse whisper when he finally decided to speak the truth. "I... don't want to die."

"This is about mortality, then?" Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously, "Everyone dies, Malfoy. Everyone. What are you trying to put off?"

"Look," Draco hissed, his eyes darting nervously to make sure that they were alone. He hated that his omission of weakness had to be to the one who had been his own personal enemy for six long years, "I'm afraid, okay? Terrified. I had to choose between you and You-Know-Who--"

"His name is Tom Riddle, actually," Harry interjected offhandedly, his voice flat and emotionless. Draco blinked a few times in surprise.

"Tom... Riddle...?"

Harry nodded, both as an answer to the question, and as an indication that Draco should finish what he was trying to say. The Malfoy flushed uncomfortably, but continued nevertheless, feeling unusually unencumbered. He should have told someone about this long ago, if only to get this feeling of freedom. Or perhaps it was that he was finally choosing which side that he would stand on. "Right. I had to choose. I choose Y... Riddle, and I'll die. I know that, everyone but the Death Eaters know that. So... so... so I decided... I decided that I would choose my own battles. You understand, right?"

"I do, yes," mused the being known as Weapon to a select few, "Indeed I do..." his own thoughts were on the upcoming battles of himself and Voldemort, and himself and Dumbledore.

Draco gave him a bit of curious look, "Ah... right. Er, well, I thought that... I thought I could throw my lot in with you, and that it would give me a better chance at surviving this whole... thing."

"You have no idea what you'll be getting into," cold gray eyes stared back at him, and Malfoy struggled not to shake. At least it wasn't that burning emerald gaze, he thought dully.

"Then... tell me."

Weapon carefully lifted his books out of his lap, and leaned forwards one hand cupping Draco's chin in order to force the other boy to stare directly into his eyes. Malfoy could not be allowed to back out of this without knowing the _full_ consequences of pledging himself to aiding the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Very well, Draco," he whispered, his voice so cold and harsh even as the green leeched back into his eyes and caused his 'captive' to shake minutely, "I'll tell you. You will be fighting Riddle. You will be fighting your father. Your mother. All those that you once claimed as 'friend'. You will be fighting Snape, and McGonagall, and yes, even Dumbledore. You will be fighting the ministry. You will not be left alone for a single _moment_ because you side with neither, but will destroy both.You will not be evil, but you will not be good, either."

"Wha..."

"Hush, boy!" Harry snapped, "Listen for once in your blood life! If you side with Riddle, you fight me, you fight Dumbledore and those who follow him, and you fight against the Ministry. If you side with Dumbledore, you will fight me, the Death Eaters, and Tom Riddle. If you choose to side with me, you will fight Tom, his little ass-kissing pureblood followers, and you fight Dumbledore and his less than brilliant crew of people fighting for 'good' and 'light' as they call it."

He let go of Malfoy's chin, pulling himself up so that he stood. The small fire that lit the room cast him into shadow, and one had to shiver. Despite the fact that he was mostly cloaked in shadow, and only a few glints of firelight flickered off of his body, his eyes still glowed with an eerie inner flame.

"They know nothing. Good and evil are creations of man. There is no good. There is no evil. There is balance, and both sides with which to disrupt it. That is what the Weapons are for," here he began to pace, his movements smooth and perfect, but his hair seemed to whip around his face with an angered flare. It revealed the agitation in his heart with each strong stride, "And that is what I am. You join with me, and you become a Weapon. You will be one of the Living Tools of Destruction. Of Creation. Of Death and Rebirth, if you will."

And abruptly he was in Malfoy;s face agian, "What is it going to be, Veela-boy? Tom? Albus? Me? Who is it that you are going to follow? Hmm?"

This would be a bit harded that he had thought it would, Draco's mind seemed to stutter over the decision. He had never even considered that Harry would go against Albus Dumbledore, Champion of the Light... but that would explain why Potter had been acting the way he was. Why he was growling and sneering, glaring and glowering, hissing threats and insults under his breath to the old headmaster. Harry didn't seemed to enjoy his current place in the world.

Malfoy was a bit unsure, but... but he didn't back down from a decision once made. He never had, and by Merlin, he never will. He would always follow it through. This was something that he had promised himself, and now he had promised to side with Potter. He wasn't about to allow himself to get killed by the psychotic... what was it that he had called himself? Ah, right. Weapon. He wasn't going to let the psychotic Weapon kill him just because he had chosen the wrong side.

"I told you, idiot. I'm siding with you."

An eyebrow quirked in surprise. Harry had not honestly expected Draco to have responded positively to what he had been told, "You've thought this out then, Draco. What an interesting development this is. I never thought that I'd get the chance to train another Weapon. Oh, this will be _fun_."

Draco wasn't all that sure if he liked the look that had appeared in Harry's eye. He _knew _that he didn't like it that the first thing Harry did now that they were partners of a sort, was to order him to sit down and help him translate whatever script that he'd been working on when the Slytherin had first revealed himself. As he could into the document, he frowned to himself.

Why was Potter researching a bunch of ancient Runes?

After several hours worth of work, Draco found himself yawning and rather abruptly hauled to his feet in response.

"Back to the Dungeons with you, Draco," that was another odd thing; Harry had stopped referring to him by his family name as soon as he had said that he would side with the other young man. How very strange... but in any case, he was feeling very, very tired. That was his reason for giving up on the runes for the night, and leaving the common room at Harry's insistence. As he drifted out of the Gryffindor's Tower, he swirled the Invisibility cloak back up around himself.While it was a rare thing to have, the Cloaks tended to travel down a family line, with the spells dutifully maintained on a regular basis. This particular cloak had once belonged to the Black Family, and had been Narcissa's before it was given to Draco for his sixteenth birthday.

Harry had crossed his arms, watching as Draco took his leave. He continued to stare at the door, even after the other boy had gone, and frowned slightly. "You can come out now, Ginny."

The youngest Weasley shifted a bit uncomfortably, but slipped out of the shadow that she had secured for herself earlier in the night. She had been there for quite some time, having been awoken by voices in the commons, and coming down stairs to investigate. Harry had been aware of her presence the entire time, and therefore that she had heard everything from Draco's fear of death onwards.

The aforementioned Potter turned to face his female friend. Ginny took a few hesitant steps forwards, before casting a somewhat longing look back towards her dorm. She should have stayed there. She should have ignored the voices, but she had heard Harry's...

"You heard what I said to Draco. To whom do you pledge your loyalties?"

* * *

End Chapter 

Who, indeed? Any suggestions?

October 30th, 2007: So, in rewriting these, I keep finding tasty little tidbits that I had forgotten about that will help out with the plot once I catch back up to Chapter 67. So awesome.


	8. Ginevra

November 5, 2007: Here we go again.

original note: Whoo! This fic has been voted as "disturbing"! I can die a happy ladynow! laughs

Dray has to be taught how to be a Weapon before he can offically become one. I've already got that part planned out :P I even know how he's going to act once he becomes one of the Living Weapons and is given a weapon name. You know, like the Naginata that I wrote about a couple chapters back.

Oh, and there's a reason why Harry's weapon name is just Weapon. You have to figure it out yourself, or just wait until I explain it.

And here's Ginny's choice.

The Itch don't own Potter, or anyone else from his books. It's really annoying always typing this, too.

* * *

**Blackened Sunrise**  
_Chapter Eight: Ginevra_  
The Itch

* * *

"Well Ginny? What's it going to be?" 

The youngest of the Weasley clan had already had quite a bit of time to think it over; several hours worth of time, spent tucked away watching and listening to Harry and Draco. She had not, however, expected that Harry would ask her of her loyalties so soon. She had thought that there would be a few days, at least, in order to think over all that she had overheard, and to make her own decisions on who she would stand with based on research and reflection. While it was hardly a secret that Ginevra Weasley had had a crush on one Harry James Potter for the first several years of her stay at Hogwarts, there was still much to consider.

When he had disappeared from the Wizarding World in general during her fourth year, that crush had waned and finally vanished. Now she was left with feeling like a sibling to Harry, at most. After all, she had grown up with Bill and Charlie drifting in and out of her life, just as Harry had done. Harry had not stood at her side as her father stood with her mother, and so with that somewhat childish train of thought, she had given up on pursuing a romantic relationship with the famous wizard.

That left her with a very difficult decision. Could she stand with Dumbledore, as her parents did, and end up fighting someone that she thought of as yet another brother? There was, of course, no way that she would ever willingly join up with You-Know-Who, but that did not guarantee that she would not be fighting against Harry. The problem was whether or not she could fight the kind and jovial Headmaster. Oh, this was just so confusing...!

She blinked a bit, though not in surprise, when she realized that she had bit her tongue hard enough to cause it to bleed. She was no stranger to pain, nor to the taste of her own blood; she frequently bit down on her tongue and cheeks when faced with a tough decision. It helped her to focus, and she had had enough injuries over her years that it was oddly comforting.

That's not to say that she inflicted any of the injuries herself. It was a combination of being the only girl in a family of boys, and lord knows boys like to rough house, and that she just didn't bother with trying to avoid injury. What was the point? No matter what she did, she would eventually wind up injured in some way, and this way she generally knew what to expect; the sharp sting of biting through her lip when she was working on a paper or a test. The scratches that she sometimes got while playing with Crookshanks. The bruises and cuts from normal, everyday things. It was comforting to feel the pain, comforting to know that she was still alive.

Because even thought it had been almost four years now, she still had doubts that she was alive. That this wasn't a dream, or nightmare in some cases, a shadow living on in a shadow world: killed by the recorded spirit of Tom Marvolo Riddle, and sentenced to eternity within his diary.

So she let herself get hurt; she scratched at her scabs and poked at her bruises. It all pointed to her status as still among the living, and it comforted her more than even her mother's warm embraces. The taste of copper in her mouth was equally as comforting as the sharp stings or the aching pains of her "clumsy" actions. It focused her.

With a bit of a distracted air, the girl moved over to one of the plush chairs and gratefully sank into it. She tipped her head to one side, lazily eying her former crush and quirked her lips into a tiny half-smile. "What's it like?"

"What's what like?" He was a little confused. Hadn't he just asked her if she was with or against him?

Crossing her arms, the redhead sighed. "Being one of those... what did you call them? 'Weapons'?" At his nod she continued, "Those weapons that you were talking about. Being able to decide for yourself, without others influencing everything that you do? To have the confidence that you'll get through it all unscathed?"

Harry frowned slightly, "I'm not really sure what you're trying to ask, Ginny."

"What's it like to be yourself and not have to worry about what everyone else thinks of you?

Potter's frown deepened with the clarification, and he moved closer to her chair so that he could crouch in front of her. As she turned to look down instead of up, their eyes met and she had to remind herself to breath. There was just something so powerful... so intense about his gaze. It was almost mocking, the way that he tilted his head, just as she had done. "It's freedom, Ginny. That's what it is. You are free from everyone's expectations, and you do what you want. But... well, when you're that free, you don't have anything to restrain you, and you wind up getting yourself killed more often than not. I still have people who have expectations of me, and these are the few that I listen to."

She blinked at that, surprised. The Harry that she had been getting to know since the term had started didn't really seem like he listened to anyone! He was always growling at the teachers and giving them stupid and insulting nicknames: Ghostie, The Dark Traitor, The Royal Ass, The Queen Demon, Sight-Less, Flower-Power... so on and so forth. He would grin inanely at any rude comment made about him. So who was this mysterious person that he would listen to...?

"The Old Man."

She jumped. "You're a mind reader now, too?!"

"No, but it was written all over your face," Harry returned with a cheeky little grin, "I take flak from the Old Man and Padfoot all the time. I listen to both of them, though. After all, they both have my well being in mind. And that's the 'you can do anything you want to as long as you don't get yourself killed' kind of well being."

She knew who Padfoot was, obviously. But... "Who's the Old Man?"

He smiled mysteriously. "You'll find out if you choose to be one of the Weapons."

"Oh like that's helpful," she muttered with a sour expression as she stared down at the older teen. It took her a moment before something dawned on her. "Wait a second! Padfoot? Does this mean that Sirius knew where you were the entire time?"

He nodded his head like he was one of those little bobbing-dog things in muggle car windows. "Yup. Couldn't leave him in the dark about this. He might have tried to off himself, and that would be very much badness."

"Badness." she repeated in a deadpan voice, staring at him rather incredulously.

"Badness," Harry agreed with a dumb-ass smile. "It's my new favorite word. Badness. Rolls right off the tongue, doesn't it?"

"You sound like you're four!"

"So?" he batted his lashed at her, puckering his lips. "I'm just so cute, thought, aren't I? And four year olds are the... the... the epitome of cute!"

"You've never been around a four year old, have you?" she returned dryly. Potter shrugged.

"No, not really. But I did watch some telly that had four year olds in it!"

Ginny sighed. She knew what the telly was-- it couldn't be helped, not with her father-- but she also knew what a real four year old was like. She had babysat for some of her mother's friends before, after all, and they weren't all sunshine and cuteness. "And the telly is oh-so-perfectly dependable, is it?"

"Okay, probably not," Harry admitted with a frown. "And we're getting off track, Ginny."

Damn. There went that plan for distracting him. Why wasn't be being distracted, dammit?! With the way that their conversation was going, she probably would have to actually answer his questions of her loyalty. Distractedly, she lifted her fingers and slipped them up under her bangs to scratch at the scabbed over remains of a few clawed-off pimples.

"I know, I know..." she muttered, tilting her head back so that she could look up at the ceiling. Who would she be fighting for? That's what it would come to in the end; who she would fight for, not beside, not with but for. And by fighting for certain people, who of her loved ones would she lose?

Percy, for one, she would lose by going with Harry. His absolute and unwavering faith in the Ministry was horrid; how could he possibly believe every line that Minister Fudge fed him? Ugh, this was why he had been the "perfect prefect": he believed anything and everything that a higher authority told him, whether it was true or not. And now there was a growing list in the back of her mind of friends and family that she would most likely end up losing in the end.

"Alright Harry. I..."

"Yes?" and his had this innocent look stamped all across his face, but for once when she looked into his eyes she could see past all the masks that had been built up over the years. His eyes glinted dangerously and with a hidden power; a hidden strength. He was like a wild animal that had been caged, she realized suddenly and her thoughts drifted to what she had heard Seamus, Ron, and Dean whispering out a few days earlier.

About the straps around his arms.

About the way those straps were decorated with Runes.

About the fact that Harry was quite obviously trying to get rid of them.

Once again, she bit her tongue in order to clear her mind of all these silly little thoughts and return to the task at hand. She bowed her head, and said a small prayer of forgiveness. This was not an easy choice to make, but in the end, it was the best of all the options.

"I'm," and she found that she had to swallow around a thick tongue, nerves on edge and her eyes darting frantically from place to place to place; wondering if there was someone else listening in as she had. Her voice dropped to a near whisper. "I'm with you, Harry. I'll be a Weapon."

He nodded, as though he had always expected this decision, and perhaps he had. Harry took her wrist into his hand and drew them both to their feet. "I hope you don't find yourself regretting your decision, Ginevra."

* * *

End Chapter 

I realise this is shorter than normal, but I didn't want to continue it any further. It just didn't seem right.

Oh, and just so you know, I actually had this all written by the time I read everyone's reviews. I just thought I should see where JK's Ginny stood with everyone. My Ginny is not the same person. As is obvious by the whole pain focus thing going on with her.

November 5, 2007: So, as you can tell, I've corrected Ginny's full name. For those of you who plan on bitching to me again about Gin-gin's name, I will take this moment to remind you that when BS was originally written, we only had fanon to go on for the girl's full name. So until I reach the end of this rewrite, you're going to be seeing "Virginia" throughout the story.


	9. Arsenal

April 10, 2009: Revisions. Also, I look at the original note and cringe. Yes, I do write romance. Not fanfic romance, and most certainly not slash, but I do write it. Ugh.

Original Note:

I feel I should put this here before anyone starts getting ideas.

I DON'T WRITE ROMANCE.

Plain and simple. I can't do romance, mostly because I've only ever been on one date in my entire life, but that doesn't really matter. I'm just saying, I don't do romance. I may do some pretty... er... violent sex scenes and kinky bondage dominatrix stuff, but that'll never get posted on , nor will it ever be in Blackened Sunrise.

So there will be no Hermione/Harry pairing. There will be no Harry/Ginny. There will be no Harry/Draco (although always a fun pairing to read, especially when violent, but I don't write it). There will be no Draco/Ginny. See, no romance. Yay! Everyone can be happy, because I'm not playing favorites.

Hmm, and I don't follow "movie conventions". The wizard robes I'd always pictured were more like those worn by Gandalf and the rest of the Lord of the Ring wizards. Just to let everyone know.

Okay, right. Itch don't own Harry Potter and the Characters of JK Rowling. *snickers* Book title, anyone?

* * *

**Blackened Sunrise**  
_Chapter Nine: Arsenal_  
The Itch

* * *

It was several days later that Draco Malfoy found himself staring through blurry-eyes at the one and only Harry James Potter. Ginevra Weasley was just as tired, covering a large yawn, and standing at his side. Both young magicians had only one thought in mind: Why the HELL did they have to be up at _two_ in the ruddy morning? More importantly for the youngest Malfoy, he wanted to know why he was up at two in the morning in the Gryffindor Boy's dorm. Silencing charm or no, if anyone found him in there...!

The Boy-Who-Lived, on the other hand, was ever so cheerfully pulling items out of his trunk. His lips were moving so it was apparent that he was muttering to himself, but the charm kept any and all sound dampened, so the pair of would-be Weapons had only their own _slightly_ acidic sleep-deprived thoughts to fill in the void.

Of course all thoughts about sleep did an abrupt about face and ran off in terror when Harry finally managed to locate his target. Several dozen blades of all sorts landed on the black and gold silk of his bed. The blades ranged from an unusually shaped glaive that Draco could only recognize as a Dark Elf Souldrinker from vague recollections of a book in the library, to the wickedly curved scimitars that were used for hunting dragons that Ginny had heard Charlie complain about. The other objects that Harry retrieved were unrecognizable to either of them, although it was easy enough to assume that they were some form of weapon from the company they kept. It was hardly their fault that pure-blooded wizards wouldn't be able to recognize an AK-47, an M60 or a .9mm pistol.

He motioned the pair over to him, and hesitantly they approached. Each had their own reasons for being leery of the weaponry, and it was only just starting to dawn on them that being a Weapon might just entail knowing how to use these relics. The green eyed sociopath ignored all signs of their hesitancy and gleefully because to load the pair's arms full of weapons with a whistle on is lips. The silencing charm only made his expression that much more terrifying.

The charm, however, did not last all that much longer as the trio made their way out of the Gryffindor Tower. James Potter's invisibility cloak was draped over them as they left, and it was a long shuffle down the halls as they listened to the inanely cheerful little song that Harry was whistling. It certainly didn't match the moods of either of his "students", and they were starting to regret the decision to become his followers. Why hadn't they sided with the "almighty" Dumbledore? They wouldn't have to deal with this lunatic every waking and supposed-to-be-sleeping moment if they had done so.

Harry had to stop his whistling in order to skirt around Filch and Mrs. Norris as they came to one of the smaller service entrances into the fields around Hogwarts Castle. Once safely out of the caretaker's reach, Harry spun around and whipped the cloak off of the other two. It settled around his shoulders with the visible side out, not unlike a Superhero's cape. Not that either Ginevra or Draco happened to be familiar enough with the muggle concept of Superheroes to recognize it for what it was.

"Welcome," Harry intoned solemnly, although the wide grin on his face destroyed the effect he was going for, "To the Living Weapons 101. Today and for the rest of your time in this class, I will be your instructor. You can call me Professor Awesome."

"...Harry?" Ginny wondered a touch nervously, "You, um, haven't been randomly dipping into any of Snape's potions have you?"

He blinked, head tipped to one side and confusion furrowing his brow. "Not recently. Why do you ask?"

"Are you positive about that, Potter?" Draco's drawl had a hint of his normal sneer to it as he raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "You certainly sound a little--"

"Off your rocker." Ginevra interrupted with a tight smile.

"Ah..." Harry's voice was soft and considering as he looked away for a long tense moment. When he looked back he was grinning again. "That would be because I am! It's quite fun to be insane, quite fun. But I digress! Weapon says that you need to be trained, and you need to be trained quickly. Battle is on its way and all that."

The two would-be-Weapons shot each other confused looks before they realised just who they were sharing their confusion with. Just because they were both going to be in training to become Weapons did not mean that they had to stop being rude to each other. The Malfoy and Weasley families just did not get along. It was that simple, and the confused looks turned into unsettled glares before they turned their attention back to their erstwhile "professor"…

…of whom had just stripped off his robe.

Thankfully for Draco, and a little bit more disappointing for Ginny, he was still wearing clothing beneath said robes. The clothing in question was a pair of black jeans and a black t-shirt, the sleeves of which were long enough to fall over the straps around his upper arms and hide most of them. The chain that had been forced upon him was carefully wrapped around his arm, and for the first time they were able to see his gauntlets in their full glory. To their surprise, he had even more weapons tucked into the gauntlets, as well as a foot-long dagger lashed to his hip.

"Well?" the Weapon was tapping his foot. "Are you going to stand there all night? Strip and start strapping on your equipment!"

This was certainly not how either pureblood had expected their training to begin. However, the knowledge that Harry was insane and enjoyed it spurred both of them to start to slowly remove their robes. Draco had been wearing a simple pair of dragonhide breeches beneath his robe, without a shirt. Beneath hers, Ginny had been dressed in an ankle-length skirt and a white blouse that had seen better days. Potter frown at both of them.

"We're going to need to get you some new clothing. That stuff won't hold up in battle; especially not your shirt, Malfoy."

The pureblood gave him a dirty look then eyed Harry's own clothing. "Oh and like yours will."

Potter gave a careless shrug. "It's special material. I'll talk to the Old Man about getting some for you two. Now... your equipment..."

The pair looked down at the pile of weapons that they had dumped at Harry's feet once the cloak had come off. The only thing in that pile was weapons, weapons, and more weapons. Ginny was certain that weapons did not truly count as "equipment", especially as she couldn't even name the majority of them outside of "sharp pointy blade" and "weird muggle thing". She bit her lip and looked back up at Harry. "Harry? I don't even know what half of these things are."

He slapped his forehead with a touch more drama then Draco thought absolutely necessary. "Oh of course you don't! How could I have been so stupid?!" he crouched down and picked up the pair of .9mm pistols in his collection to toss to her. "Be careful there, Ginevra. You don't want to accidentally turn the safeties off."

"Safeties?"

"They prevent the guns from shooting you while you're handling them. It doesn't really matter right now as neither of them have any ammo in the chambers, but it's better to be safe than sorry, right?" He turned back to the pile and began rummaging through the weapons, apparently uncaring if he got cut on the blades. After a moment he pulled out a quartet of eight inch daggers. "These suckers are Stallion Blades. Made from the horns of black unicorns--"

"A-aren't those endangered?" the redhead wondered.

"They are." Harry confirmed with a small frown. "There are still poachers, though. Took these ones off a Death Eater maybe four... no, five months ago. Catch." at this, he tossed the blades to Draco. "Now this is a... well, I can't remember what it's called, but it looks bloody cool." He grinned widely and held up the metal staff so that it was parallel to the ground. With a moment's concentration the metal pulsed and extended a number of wickedly curved and wickedly sharp blades from either end. "Enchanted metal; I'm guess it's of Amazonian origin."

He set it down and continued to rattle through the names and properties of the weapons in his pile. Almost an hour and a half later, each of the Weapons-in-training had their own personal arsenal of "toys". To Ginny's surprise, she had been given all four of the guns as well as the Amazonian Battle Staff. Draco found himself the proud owner of a myriad of daggers and short swords, while Harry kept everything else for himself.

"Now..." he rubbed his hands together gleefully."We're going to introduce your to your new partners by working you two into the ground. Doesn't that sound fun?"

* * *

Draco managed to drag himself back into the dungeons around ten to six. His robe was only half on, but it was enough to cover the weapons that Harry had _insisted_ that he wear at all times. In this case, insisted meant that Harry had ever-so-believably threatened to obliviate every last second of his lift which would leave him as a squalling baby in a nearly adult body. Oh no, that would not have been good at all.

It meant, of course, that the blonde scion of House Malfoy was currently wearing the four Stallion Blades strapped to his arms. Several other blades tucked into the waistband of his pants, into his boots, and a short sword called of all things "Blessed Mother" in a scabbard across his back. It was quite the misleading name for a blade, as it was actually a cursed blade; one designed to tear the soul right from the body with the tiniest of cuts and turn the soulless shell into a zombie servant. Harry had had a decidedly unhealthy gleam in his eyes when he had given it to Draco.

At this moment, Draco felt like he was a zombie. His arms ached from swinging all those blasted blades around, and his legs hurt from trying to dodge Ginevra's surprisingly accurate shots. Of course, Harry just had to be a sadistic bastard about it all and had used a silencing charm on the guns. It worked better than any of the muggle-made silencers that he'd shown Ginny how to use.

This, of course, meant that Harry had to use numerous healing spells in order to patch Draco up after their so-called training.

The Malfoy could only wonder if Harry had gone through the same training. If he had been smacked around the head enough times, that might just explain his attitude.

"Well well well, it looks like Draco's been gettin' some," the taunt came from the resident non-sexual, one Blaise Zabini. Non-sexual in the sense that not even the other Slytherins were all that positive of whether or not Blaise was male, female, or-- as one rumour kept postulating-- made out of plants. Not that it mattered all that much. Zabini didn't normally sleep in the dorms.

"Bugger off," Malfoy snarled. "I've had a bloody rotten time of it already today and I don't need you to add to it."

"So how long have you been up?" Zabini ignored the warning and threw an arm around Draco's shoulders. The look in the sixteen year olds grey eye quickly corrected that decision, and Zabini's arm was ever-so-abruptly removed from his shoulders. Draco stormed away-- was that a limp? -- leaving the question unanswered.

"Now that was bloody rude."

* * *

Ginny wasn't having a much better time of it. This may have had something to do with the fact that she didn't manage to get back to her dorm until it was already seven thirty. Harry had decided to "keep her after class" in order to properly train her. Draco wasn't good enough with his blades or modifying his speed with his own powers in order to be a challenge; not unsurprising as training had only just begun. Therefore Harry had attacked her.

Unlike Draco, he used more than just his blades. Harry had his own set of pistols; they had been shoved into the back of his waistband, and it had shocked her enough to bring her to an abrupt halt when he had drawn them. It wasn't until the first bullet hit her shoulder that she started moving again. Beneath her robe, her clothing was still bloodstained.

To top it all off, there was the fact that the majority of the Gryffindor girls of her year were already up. They watched in stunned silence as she dragged herself through the common room, then into her dorm, and proceeded to collapse face down into her bed. Within moment she was asleep and the whispers were beginning to fly. The rumours who where the youngest Weasley had been started simple and innocently, but as the rumour mongers learned that Malfoy hadn't been a much better sight when he trudged into the Slytherin common rooms they turned vicious.

As he settled himself comfortably into a chair tucked away in a darkened corner to watch the mayhem unfold, Harry Potter grinned maliciously. It would do those two some good to be isolated from their friends and their house. After all it would force them to focus all their attention on being a Weapon if they were deprived of any support outside of him.

There was no way that he was going to let himself screw this one up. He needed all of the help that he could get at the moment; it only took a short glance at his unwanted wards to confirm that fact. Once he was rid of these blasted things everything would be so perfect, it was a taste on the tip of his tongue. Four full power Wizard-born Weapons.

Four.

All he had to do now was off the chance to the fourth.

* * *

End Chapter

original note: Who's going to be the fourth? Guess you'll just have to wait until Saturday to find out. *grin* And yes, I already know who it'll be, but you're welcome to guess.

April 10, 2009: I never realised just how much of this story I had forgotten. Hmm.


	10. Question

The closest to the mark was Shila, when she guessed Remus. :P  
  
Hermione? Er, where did you people get that idea? *grins stupidly*   
Hehehehehehehe, I knew everyone was going to say that, too. I think the   
only person who really does know who it happens to be is Silent Dragon,   
and that's only because I tend to blather on when it's eight thirty in   
the morning, which is generally when I talk to her. Isn't school FUN?!  
  
Bleh, I think I'm outta it. Pry because I just spent the last hour and   
a half trying to make this STUPID HAT!!! *glares at said stupid hat,   
then calms after awhile* Sorries. That's the problem with making your   
own clothing. When you make a mistake, and don't notice it until a long   
while later, it pisses you off.   
  
I'm going to let you guys read the fic now...  
  
Pothead and crew belong to JK Rowling, not The Itch.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Ten: Question  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
Harry hummed a cheerful little ditty as he made his way up to the   
owlery. Well, it sounded cheerful to everyone who heard him. The fact   
that the words running around in his head went something along the   
lines of 'Blow shit up, have a blast. Destroy at random, and do it   
fast.', was unknown to everyone else. They'd probably start freaking if   
he sung it out loud, like he had "The Injury Song".   
  
In any case, he had a letter in hand, and a purpose in mind that night   
as he quite literally bounced along the halls. The day had been a most   
amusing one, indeed. Both Virginia and Draco had failed to show up for   
breakfast in the Great Hall, and chatter about how both had shown up in   
their respective dorms disheveled soon sprouted many a rumor.   
  
Potions had been exceptionally entertaining to the Living Weapon,   
having watched Ron's Avada Kedavra Glares just increase in intensity,   
and cause the young Malfoy to squirm in his seat. Harry had to stop   
himself from laughing out loud on several occasions. Not because he'd   
get in trouble with Snape-- what did he care about detentions he'd most   
likely skip and loss of House Points?-- but because that would bring   
attention to him. That meant Draco would stop squirming in his seat,   
and Ron would stop giving those delightful little glares.  
  
Yeap, Harry Potter was certifiably insane.  
  
His green eyes were noticeably empty, should one have bothered to look   
into them. However, no one did, merely nodding hello, or calling their   
greeting, but never looking into his eyes. That had been something that   
had bothered him for the first four years of his tenure at Hogwarts. No   
one-- excluding Ron, Ginny, Hermione and Draco-- dared to look in his   
eyes. Even Dumbledore seemed to avoid looking at those brilliant green   
eyes, but that was probably because they were _Lily's_ eyes, and it was   
a bad reminder that Lily Potter was dead.  
  
Harry made a note to shove his face into Dumbledore's and force him to   
look at his eyes. That would be funny!  
  
Finally, the empty-eyed psychopath entered the owlery, "Hedwig, oi,   
bird, where are you?" he trilled, and the bird fluttered to his side,   
landing on his outstretched arm. He scratched her head, feeding her   
some of the meat he'd copped from the dinner table, "I have a letter   
for you to send off, Hedwig. Make sure it arrives tomorrow at   
break-ee-fast, okiies?"  
  
She cooed, taking the letter, then fluttering off out the window. Harry   
waved cheerfully for a few minutes, until a dry voice came from behind   
him.  
  
"You talk baby-talk to your owl?"  
  
"Of course!" he chirped, whirling around to grin inanely at Draco, who   
had apparently followed Harry via his mother's Invisibility Cloak,   
"Well, not always," he added, thoughtfully, "Just when I'm in that sort   
of mood, I guess!"  
  
The part veela hiked a slender eyebrow, "You are an odd person,   
Potter."  
  
"I'm a person! Cool!"  
  
Draco was wondering if Harry was doing shion. 'Shion' being the slang   
term for highly addictive, illegal potions. Essentially, the wizard   
equivalent of muggle drugs. The ebon haired sixteen year old honestly   
seemed like he was on something, "Er, right. Can we cancel practice   
tonight?"  
  
And suddenly, the grey eyed Harry was standing straight and tall before   
him, "Why?"  
  
The blonde was much more relaxed, now dealing with his own personally   
designated 'safe' Potter. He crossed his arms, "Because I want to stop   
the spreading of those stupid rumors that Weasley and I are dating in   
secret."  
  
Weapon stared at him for a long time, and he began to shift nervously.   
Didn't the silver-eyed boy need to blink, or something? Finally, after   
what seemed like an eternity, but which was probably only a few   
minutes, the Living Weapon shook his head, "No. We don't have much time   
to train you and Virginia up to standards." And he swept out of the   
Owlery, leaving a confused looking Malfoy behind.  
  
"There are standards?"  
  
---  
  
"For the last time!" Ginny snapped, whirling on Lavender, "I am _NOT_   
dating Malfoy! I _hate_ that ruddy bastard, _do_ _you_ _understand_   
_ME_?!"  
  
Lavender skittered back a bit nervously, waving her hands about   
placatingly, "Alright, alright, you don't like Draco."  
  
She sniffed indignantly, dropping herself back onto the couch in the   
Gryffindor Common Room. Ugh, what she wouldn't do to just be able to   
turn back time and tell Harry that she was going to side with   
Dumbledore. Maybe if she had she wouldn't be putting up with this right   
now.   
  
No, wait, she _knew_ she wouldn't be putting up with this right now.   
Damned rumors.  
  
"So why _did_ you come back all messed up like that, Ginny? Found a   
boyfriend?"  
  
She got a flat stare in return, "No, I don't have a boyfriend,   
Lavender. Quite frankly, I doubt I'll _ever_ have a boyfriend--"  
  
"So you're a lesbian?" input one of the girls in her year-- Saria   
something-or-other-- but she was cowed by the fiercest glare she'd ever   
seen in return. It even beat Ron's Super Avada Kedavra Glare o'Death at   
supper that night.  
  
"--No, I am not a lesbian, Saria," Virginia growled, "What I'm saying   
is I doubt I'll have the _time_ for a boyfriend."  
  
"And why is that?" wondered Hermione, who was genuinely hoping Ginny   
had seen the light and would join her in the Library at all hours of   
the day to study.  
  
The redhead opened her mouth to reply, but someone else beat her to it,   
"Because she's got shit to do, of course!"  
  
The girls turned to see Harry skipping into the room, and their   
collective thought was "he's been doing shion." Well, except for Ginny,   
who's thoughts were, "Oh bloody Merlin, the sadist is back."  
  
"Hiya 'Mione, Virginia!" he plopped himself onto the couch beside his   
student, ruffling her hair with a dumbass grin, "Going out tonight?"  
  
Virginia glared at him, then bit out, "Suppose I am."  
  
His lips quirked and she balked at the look in her teacher's eyes. Oh   
no, no he wasn't going to...  
  
"Meeting Draco out by the Quidditch Pitch again?"  
  
... he was.  
  
He was also subtly telling her that he expected her out there nice and   
early to get in some practice. Oh, this would be hell. She upped her   
glare at him, but he only smiled back.   
  
Oh yes, he was insane, she thought dryly, he probably _likes_ being   
glared at. So thinking, she put on her most sickly sweet smile, biting   
her tongue hard enough to taste blood as she fluttered her eyelashes at   
him. Bingo, he was starting to look nervous. In fact, he was even   
pulling away from her!  
  
Ouuuu, note to self, Harry's scared of overly cute girls.   
  
She smiled brighter, attaching herself to his arm, "Oh, Harry, won't   
you please come with me tonight? Pretty please?"  
  
"Ugh, don't do that!" he finally shouted, untangling himself and   
shooting to the other side of the room with a scowl. Everyone else in   
the common room laughed-- Virginia laughing the loudest. His green eyes   
narrowed.  
  
Oh, she was _so_ going to get it!  
  
---  
  
As Virginia and Draco had their asses handed to them by Weapon during   
training early the next morning, a certain snowy owl found her   
destination. Swooping in silently, her target didn't even realize she   
was there-- until she landed in front of him, and swatted his nose with   
one wing.   
  
The dog jerked awake with a sneeze, blinking at the bird. A quick   
glance around indicated that, yes, he was still as deep into the forest   
as he had been when he'd fallen asleep. So Sirius Black shifted back   
into his human form, sitting cross-legged on the dead pine needles that   
littered the ground, "What've ya got there, Hedwig?"  
  
She hooted, holding out her leg, of which had Harry's letter tied to   
it. He grinned, removing it, and settled back to see what his godson   
had been up to over the last little while. Seeing as he was fairly   
alone, he decided that reading the letter to Hedwig wouldn't be all   
that bad of an idea.   
  
Remus was somewhere in town, most likely, picking up breakfast for   
them. Padfoot rarely woke up this early, so he never really noticed   
when his long-time friend wasn't there. Now that he was awake with the   
sun just over the horizon, and without Lupin, he felt awfully lonely.   
Therefore, he read the letter out loud.  
  
"'Dear Snuffles, how are you? I'm fine. Back at Hogwarts, though'," he   
scratched the back of his head, "Hmmm, that's probably my fault... any   
ways, 'I wanted to ask you something. I know you've already been   
duplicating some of the things I've told you about--'"   
  
Black paused. How did his godson know that? No, never mind, Harry   
probably just knew him. He was going to do everything in his power to   
be closer to the young Potter. Harry had said something about being   
insane having to be the key to power... well, he was insane already,   
wasn't he?   
  
Not even he had escaped from Azkaban with full sanity. He had been in   
their for twelve years, with only the dementors and insane prisoners   
for company. Back to the letter.  
  
"'--and I'm not mad or anything. Actually, I wanted to know if you   
would come up to Hogwarts soon.' Er, sure thing, Harry, 'When you get   
here, we'll start you in the _proper_ training of how to be one of the   
Living Weapons--'." And here, Black dropped the letter. Him? A Living   
Weapon? Sure, Harry had told him all about the Weapons in his letters,   
and he was one off the rare few that knew that Harry and Weapon were   
two different people, but... him? Wasn't he too old to be a Weapon?  
  
He frowned, finishing reading the letter to himself, and then he   
scratched onto the bottom of the letter his reply, sending it back. He   
didn't have anything but his clothing with him-- Remus had everything   
on him, and the other man wouldn't be back for another hour or so.   
Changing back into 'Snuffles', Padfoot stretched out, and decided the   
best option was to go back to sleep.  
  
Yawning, he did just that.  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
MWHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! No one guessed Sirius! I feel so proud that I   
stumped everyone. Uhm, yeah, it's like... three in the morning. I'm   
going to bed now... 


	11. Conversations

I think I have insomnia or something. Can insomnia be counted as a   
disease? 'Cause it's like... chronic insomnia at that.   
  
Hmm, well, maybe it's not exactly insomnia; I _do_ end up asleep,   
eventually, every night, despite my habit of waking up at six thirty in   
the morning. Bleh, it's late, I'm babbling, and I really should write   
these notes AFTER I've written the chapter... Which I'm going to do.   
Right now.  
  
Said it almost a dozen times before. I don't own Harry Potter.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Eleven: Conversations  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
Harry James Potter had a plan. It was a sadistic, evil, insidious plan.  
  
And he couldn't help but grin widely at Virginia Weasley all day   
because of it, either. The redheaded fifteen year old was starting to   
get nervous; okay, well, she'd been nervous since they'd settled at the   
table for breakfast and he was quietly chuckling in that patented 'evil   
villain with a plan' laugh. She'd never noticed how _good_ he was at   
that laugh before.  
  
So she spent the day looking over her shoulder, trying to figure out   
what the insane wizard was up to. So far, she hadn't figured it out.  
  
The whole first half of the plan was to psyche her out. Harry had   
decided that was a grand success. Now, for part two. Again, he chuckled   
darkly, hiding in the shadows outside of his Potions classroom. It   
would be just a few more minutes... aha! There was the pale haired   
weapon-in-training right there. Just before Malfoy could go through the   
door, Potter snagged his robe, and dragged him off in another   
direction.  
  
"What the... Potter!? Potter, what the hell are you doing?!"  
  
The green eyed boy grinned widely at his captive, "We're going to have   
some fun Draco! Now c'mon, someone needs to learn their lesson!"  
  
"Lesson? What? Potter!"  
  
---  
  
Draco was scowling and muttering to himself as he and 'Instructor   
Harry', returned from Hogsmeade several hours later. He was not a happy   
person, having had his hair turned neon blue by a couple of overzealous   
Weasleys in their not-so-little joke shop. Gods, how he _hated_   
Weasleys!  
  
Harry was just grinning stupidly, having forced Draco to carry all the   
bags as 'training'. Ah, he could remember Daemen ordering him about   
like a slave all the time during his own training. Those were the   
days... well, Daemen _still_ ordered him about. It was kinda annoying   
to have to "subtly" toss around late students with his powers, and   
still hit hard enough to leave a mark.  
  
With a bounce in his step, the ebon haired boy slipped out of one of   
the secret passages, smiling benignly at his companion, "Stash those in   
your room. We're going to need them after dinner."  
  
"Dinner?!" Malfoy snapped, "That's a few hours away at the least! Why   
did we have to get this _now_?!"  
  
"Because I didn't want to go to Potions," Potter stated   
mater-of-factly, still smiling. Then he seemed to melt away, and Draco   
was left alone in the hall. He stood there for a few minutes, then   
scowled.  
  
"When I learn how to do that, I'm going to pull that damned trick on   
him, too!"  
  
---  
  
"Hi 'Mione!"   
  
Hermione shrieked at Harry's sudden appearance in front of her,   
clasping a hand to her chest as she glared up at him, "Don't _do_   
that!"  
  
"Sorry," his grin said he wasn't, though, "Hey, have you seen Ron   
anywhere about?"  
  
"He's probably at the Quidditch Pitch, practicing. He _is_ Captain,   
after all."  
  
Harry blinked a couple times. They'd started Quidditch season already?   
Skimming over his memories, he realised that The Royal Ass had indeed   
announced try-outs a few weeks back, and The Demon Queen had questioned   
about his no-show at the try-outs. He just generally didn't listen to   
what any of them said.  
  
Heeeeey, he thought suddenly, how long has it been since you're ridden   
a broom? Two, three years?   
  
"Hmmm," Harry scratched at his chin, an evil, evil idea coming to him.   
But he wouldn't act it out, not right now. That would be bad. People   
could connect it to him. He'd just have to keep it in mind. Maybe as a   
punishment for Malfoy, if he got out of hand while training? Ouuuu, he   
got chills just thinking about it!  
  
Hermione was worried. Harry's eyes had just kinda... glazed over. It   
was fairly freaky, to seem him do that. One moment, he looks sane-- or   
at least as sane as he'd appeared to be since the beginning of the   
year-- and the next he looks like he's been drinking shions all week,   
"Harry?"  
  
"Er, yeah, 'Mione?" pondered the Potter, having been knocked out of his   
daydream by his friend's inquiring version of his name, "Somethin' up?"  
  
"No, just wondering where you went," she smiled at him, "You looked a   
thousand miles away."  
  
He grinned back at her, "Just daydreaming... hey, 'Mione?"  
  
"Yes Harry?"  
  
He plopped down on the floor in front of her, cupping his chin in one   
hand, "You wouldn't happen to know how to read Old Norse, would you?"  
  
---  
  
Harry sidled into Defense Against the Dark Arts, moments before the   
door magically slammed shut. Wolfos had decided to enchant it so that   
during class time, the door could only open from the inside, and only   
by Daemen. The only other times was when it came time for class to   
start, and the door would shut. Of course, this also meant that when   
class ended, it would swing open.   
  
Green eyes picked out his usual classmates-- Ron, Hermione, Draco, and   
the rest of the sixth year Gryffindor and Slytherin Houses--before he   
plopped himself down into a chair, grinning widely. He was apparently   
the only one with a death wish, as everyone else made sure that they   
didn't do anything that would require one of Daemon's... punishments.   
  
The man was evil. He rarely gave detentions, but he always punished you   
for doing something wrong. Daemen was from an era long gone, one that   
punished physically, not one that handed out detentions for doing   
something stupid.   
  
Wolfos and Filch got along like the best of friends, which was just   
plain scary to think about.  
  
So most people didn't. They just got to class on time, settled down,   
listened to his instruction, then left the class. Wolfos had also   
decided to use a bit of illegal magic, unknown to everyone, except   
maybe Dumbledore. Merlin knows why Albus let him use it, but there was   
probably a very good reason.  
  
That little bit of forbidden magic was a very special spell. It allowed   
him to cram a full year's worth of knowledge into the skulls of his   
pupils in only a week or two. They wouldn't really notice the   
difference, which was why it was illegal. Your own thoughts and   
opinions could influence someone else's, and they'd never know.  
  
Daemen was one of three people especially skilled in casting the spell.   
One of the other two was Dumbledore, himself. The third... well, Wolfos   
hadn't seen that man in years, not since they had been schools chums,   
really. He wondered what the other was doing, then rolled his eyes. He   
knew exactly what his old friend was up to. It's not like he'd ever   
actually done anything else after graduating.  
  
Any ways, he had a class to teach, so pulling out of his memories, he   
shot Harry his special glare meant specifically for Weapon. It was his   
'You're staying after class, whether you like it or not' glare.  
  
Everyone else thought it was just his, 'I despise you Harry Potter   
glare'. It was the one Snape did fairly well.  
  
Harry inclined his head ever-so-slightly, then smirked, tilting his   
head towards Malfoy. Wolfos frowned, then looked across the room, and   
into grey eyes, "Mister Malfoy, I'd like a word with you after class,   
if you will?"  
  
"Yessir," Draco muttered, wondering what exactly he'd done that he'd   
have to stay after class for. It couldn't be all that bad, otherwise   
he'd have been making friends with Mister Wall. Again. He paused,   
rewinding that thought process and going over it again. He almost   
groaned out loud.  
  
Note to self, he thought with a scowl, beat Potter around the head.   
You're starting to think like he talks.  
  
And so, class went about, Crabbe and Goyle once again meeting their   
apparently best friend, the stone walls, in their special places. These   
places were really special, because the two lumbering idiots-- who some   
thought were actually just one person, and they were imagining the   
other body-- meet them repeatedly, and had put dents in them. Goyle's   
even had some of his own vomit in it, and Crabbe's had the blood he'd   
spat up because his ribs had made a squishy sound when he hit them a   
few days earlier.  
  
None of the other students needed to be "disciplined" over the course   
of the class, which left Daemen upset. He'd wanted to see a little   
bloodshed, dammit!  
  
Everyone filed out, leaving Potter and Malfoy behind. Daemen turned   
lavender eyes on the boys, and asked the first thing that came to   
mind-- which wasn't what he had called Harry to remain behind for, by   
the by-- "Harry, why exactly did you want Mister Malfoy here for   
this... conversation?"  
  
"I'm training him to be a Weapon," chirped Harry, standing proud.   
Wolfos eyes the blonde for a moment, then turned back to the Weapon he   
had fashioned.  
  
"Oh, really. Are you quite sure about that, Harry?" the old man paused,   
"Have you even bothered to tell him what he has to give up to be a   
Weapon?"  
  
"I have to give things up?" wondered Draco, before a panicked look   
entered his eyes. Daemen was looking at him. At _him_! That was... that   
was like a death sentence amongst the students!  
  
Wolfos gave a laugh, "Oh, you do indeed, m'boy. Why do you think Weapon   
here is completely off his rocker?"  
  
Malfoy frowned, "I thought he was just doing shions."  
  
Harry had a bit of a confused look-- for all his "worldliness" he'd   
never heard the term 'shions' before-- but Wolfos didn't. He just   
laughed a bit.  
  
"Hardly. There are things one loses or give up to become a Weapon," he   
gave a toothy grin, "The right to reproduce for one. Shagging to   
relieve stress is allowed. You're not allowed to get married, either.   
And by your look, Harry here didn't tell you."  
  
Potter shrugged, "By the end of the training he wouldn't care either   
way, why should I have to tell him?" he grinned wickedly, "Maybe we   
should tell Virginia. She's too deep to back out of it now,   
mwahahahahahahaha!!"  
  
The other two watched Harry laugh manically for a few minutes, before   
he suddenly regained control. Draco understood when he saw gleaming   
silver irises, although only Daemen really understood why. Weapon spoke   
in his coveted monotone, "Why is it that you wished for me to remain,   
Wolfos?"  
  
"Have you translated the book, yet?" wondered the elder, "I am sure it   
would help greatly if you have."  
  
"I'm having Hermione translate it," Weapon informed him, "She does not   
know why, only that I do not read Old Norse."  
  
Wolfos scowled darkly, "She'll tell Dumbledore!"  
  
"Hardly," scoffed Malfoy, "Even _I_ know the Mudblood has kept things   
from everyone but Potter and Weasley, before."  
  
"Weasley...?" questioned Wolfos, "Then she might tell Mister Weasley."  
  
"Unlikely," Weapon returned calmly, "I asked her to keep this a secret,   
and she has yet to betray my trust."  
  
"She will be curious as to why you want this information," cautioned   
Wolfos, before dismissing the two boys. With a sigh, he settled down   
behind his desk. Heaving a sigh, he shook his head with a rueful smile.  
  
"Ah, look at what I've become, old friend. I've gone soft..."  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Hopefully I'll get to the prank next chapter. As it is, I'm too tired   
to continue this right now. 


	12. Pranks

I really have to stop typing these things so late. Heh, maybe if I   
stopped playing FF8 & FFX all the time... it's a slight obsession...  
  
Oh, yeah, before you ask a dumbass question, please, read my authors   
notes. I've already seen like, four questions that I've previously  
addressed.  
  
The Itch has stated it a round dozen times! She does not own the Harry   
Potter Characters!  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Twelve: Pranks  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
Dinner was an admittedly tense affair. On the one side, you had Ginny   
ready to take flight at a moment's notice, and her older brother Ron   
trying to figure out what was wrong. On the other side was a Harry who   
wouldn't remove his 'dastardly' smirk, and Hermione who was trying to   
show him the scrolls onto which she'd translated a bit more of the book   
on Merlin's Runes.   
  
That made, in total, four scrolls-- one from Harry, one from Ginny, one   
from Draco, and one from Hermione. Hopefully, he'd get a chance to look   
them over soon. He figured Hermione's would be the most complete,   
mostly because his was only the barest of edges, since it took him a   
hell of a long time to translate the stupid thing, and both Ginny and   
Draco had been falling asleep while they translated their parts.  
  
Yeap, definitely going to go over Hermione's translation. Then he was   
going to teach himself every damned language on the planet, including   
dead languages. All this sit around and translate nonsense was getting   
to him. Screw the fact that it had nothing to do with fighting. His   
lack of an ability to remove his wards was pissing him off royally.  
  
Which was why he was distracting himself with getting petty revenge on   
Ginny for her routine the night prior. Oh, he'd worked her into the   
ground during practice, but that wasn't nearly enough. He was the son   
of a Marauder, after all. It was in his blood to pull pranks.  
  
On thoughts of the Marauders, he wondered when Sirius was going to show   
up. Really, he would have started the man's training earlier, but...   
well, one thing led to another, and he'd just kept forgetting to ask   
his godfather to come up and get some proper training. Now that he had,   
he figured this could be pretty fun.  
  
Neither Ginny nor Draco were insane-- yet, Weapon muttered to his other   
half-- so they would have a bit more training to go through before they   
could really be considered Weapons. Sirius wasn't exactly stable, so   
that meant Harry could push his mind into the Weapon-state all that   
much easier. For a few minutes, he wondered how these three new Weapons   
would be forged.  
  
Would they be the cold, hollow shells of the other Weapons, left only   
to suffer in silence as they took his words as commands and his   
commands as gospel? Or would they completely fail to be True Weapons,   
but have all the skills and abilities that they could easily fake   
everything but the higher-end powers? Or, the third option, the one   
that Harry and Weapon embodied? Split into two beings, one emotionless   
and cold, the other ruled by passion, fueled by emotion?  
  
Oh, this was to confusing, he grumbled, standing up as he finished his   
dinner, and moved to leave the Great Hall. He had to get into the   
Slytherin dorms, just to get the prank stuff he'd forced Draco to keep   
for him. He'd let what happened, happen. However his Weapon-trainees   
turned out, would be what he'd have to deal with.  
  
Although, if he got the cold-bastard type who couldn't function without   
commands, he'd probably dump them off on Wolfos to deal with.  
  
---  
  
Twenty minutes later found Malfoy and Potter slipping through the   
hidden passages of Hogwarts towards the Gryffindor fifth year Girls   
Dorms. In their arms were all their pranking toys and items; Draco had   
joined Harry in grinning maniacally as they went along. He was going to   
play a prank on a Weasley. What could be better for a Malfoy?  
  
Well, there were a few things, but he pushed those away. He also pushed   
away the thoughts that this was the first prank he'd pulled that hadn't   
been specifically tailored to completely destroy someone. Not that it   
had ever worked on his normal target; Harry was a bit to tough-skinned   
to be taken down by an amateur prank.  
  
For some reason, Harry had decided they needed to have "Pranking   
Outfits". Which generally consisted of black Muggle clothing-- Draco   
was still flushed from the embarrassing fact that Harry had to help him   
figure out how to wear said clothing. A black... bandana, had he called   
it?... was tied around their faces, and they had... baseball caps?...   
over their heads, to prevent identification. A way-to-snug for his   
likings black turtleneck and a pair of black jeans-- with zippers!   
Muggles thought of the strangest devices!-- complete with rubber soled   
running shoes. Which were, again, black.  
  
Draco was wondering if Harry had gone goth somewhere over the last   
couple years.   
  
Harry was wondering why he was letting Draco accompany him, since the   
other boy was breathing to hard. For goodness sakes! If Ginny was a   
properly trained Weapon, she'd hear them coming a mile away! But he   
couldn't say anything, because even at a whisper, his voice would be to   
loud.   
  
A sudden thought struck him.  
  
I wonder if there's a spell I could use to become a telepath?  
  
No, no, focus on the task at hand, Weapon-boy-oh. Can't have your mind   
wander mid-prank. Could hurt yourself. Nodding his head to himself,   
completely unaware of the odd looks Malfoy was presenting him with,   
Harry bounced down the passage. The blonde Slytherin had to scramble to   
catch up.  
  
Finally, the boys had come to the end of their journey, Harry pushed   
open the portrait only the slightest of bits, peering around curiously.   
There was no one else in the room-- thank god-- and it took Harry a   
moment to remember that Dumbledore had announced some sort of party, or   
something, that would be happening that night. A gleeful smile crossed   
his face as he did so; he was having a stroke of good luck today!  
  
"Let's go!"  
  
Both boys snickered to themselves as they began to set up the joke   
items and the _real_ prank around Ginny's bed. This was going to be   
_fun_!  
  
---  
  
Virginia heaved a relieved breath when she entered her dorm later that   
night; she'd survived every meeting with Potter so far. He hadn't taken   
his revenge yet, and she was starting to think he never would. He must   
have been just psyching me out, she thought to herself, I mean, this is   
_Harry_. He wouldn't pull anything nasty on me.  
  
Famous last words.  
  
She had pulled her robe off, and went to grab her pyjamas, when she   
froze. They were gone. Where were pyjamas? Opening her trunk to see if   
someone had put them away, instead of leaving them on her bed where she   
_always_ left her pyjamas, she shrieked. The other girls in the room   
looked up, and started giggling.   
  
Half growling, Ginny reached down and pulled out an all-too-familiar   
little device. She could recall Fred and George testing this one out on   
Ron during their last year. It was a little muggle stuffed toy-- or at   
least, appeared to be. It had been enchanted to soak everything in a   
four foot range when light hit it. Her under-robe clothing was soaked   
through. The simple knee-length tailored skirt was heavy when soaked,   
and her thin white peasant's blouse had gone transparent.  
  
She glared at the toy, before hurtling it out of the dorm room. She   
turned to face her bed, and groaned There were some various obvious   
lumps under the sheets, so she grabbed the red and gold comforter, and   
ripped it off-- carefully to leap out of the blast range. Her bed and   
her sheets were now soaked.  
  
Ruby eyebrow twitching, she pulled her robe back on and stalked out of   
the dorm, "_POTTER_!!" she shrieked, fuming as she glared down the hall   
to the sixth year boys dorm.  
  
Harry's head poked out from the door way, followed by Dean, Ron, Seamus   
and Neville's heads. A wide grin had crossed the son of Prongs' face,   
"Oh! I see you got my present!"  
  
"You did that?" wondered Dean and Seamus, before Dean clapped Harry on   
the shoulder, "If you can do better than that, you should join the next   
prank-war."  
  
"This is not something to be congratulating him on!!" Virginia shrieked   
again, "Harry James Potter, I swear, I'm going to _kill_ you!"  
  
Harry was still grinning though. Oh yes, he thought, you're going to   
try bloody hard to kill me when the _real_ prank hits.   
Mwahahahahahahaha.  
  
Ginny continued to shout at Harry for a good twenty minutes, before she   
decided she was going to go to bed, and forget she ever knew Harry as   
anything more than a famous savior-type figure.   
  
---  
  
"Gwah?"  
  
"C'mon, Virginia, it's time for practice."  
  
"G'way. No wanna."  
  
"I always knew the Weasleys were cowards."  
  
"Tak'at back, Ma'foy."  
  
"Hmmm... no," Draco's soft laughter finally penetrated her brain, and   
she cracked an eye open to glare up at him. He was grinning, "The bald   
look really suits you, Ginny."  
  
"Thanks..." she was still very tired, and was half-way out of the   
Gryffindor common room, when what she'd been told sunk in, "WHAT?!"  
  
Both boys burst out laughing at her shout, her hands coming up to run   
over her now smooth scalp. The only hair left on her head was her   
eyebrows. The left eyebrow began to twitch, and she pulled one of her   
nine millimeters out of the holster strapped to her thigh. Virginia   
chased both of them out of the castle, bellowing death threats.   
Thankfully, Filch was on the other end of the castle, Snape was asleep   
in his dungeons, and McGongall was having tea with Dumbledore.   
Otherwise, the trip would have been in some trouble.  
  
Ginny and Draco still wore their simple clothing, as the ideas of   
zippers and snaps and buckles were still very foreign to them, and   
Potter was only slowly introducing them to muggle clothing. Better to   
let them slowly get used to it during their training, then to hand them   
over the Standard Weapon Light, or even Heavy for that matter, Battle   
Gear and expect them to understand how to wear it.  
  
At least, he thought gleefully as he dodged around a kick from Ginny,   
and had to twist away from the butt of her gun as she attempted to   
pistol-whip him, I've gotten them to stop with the constantly wearing   
robes to the Pitch.   
  
The Quidditch Pitch had become their personal little playground, as   
they duked it out there every single morning. Weapon was a tough   
taskmaster, and he refused to go lightly on his comrades.   
  
Virginia, for once, agree with him, as she hauled her M60 off her back   
and opened fire on him.  
  
---  
  
Sirius perked up at the sounds of gun fire, while Remus Lupin looked   
about nervously. He really hated guns. Muggle weapons that could kill   
as easily as Avada Kedavra. He'd been shot before, and had been lucky   
that he had a healing draught on him. He opened his mouth to advise his   
friend that they should go in the opposite direction, when he realised   
that Sirius was already gone.  
  
Groaning, he took off after the fleet form of his currently four-footed   
friend. Why couldn't he have had a _sane_ friend? Why Merlin, did he   
get stuck with a dog that ran off after the slightest of things that   
aroused his curiosity.   
  
Lupin was positive Sirius didn't understand the meaning of restraint.  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Well, Ginny's been hit. Wonder what everyone else is going to say about   
her currently shaved state... hehehehehehe... 


	13. Beatings

Heh, what would you do first-- remember Hair Growth charms/potions, or   
try to maim the person who shaved your head?   
  
Hey, let's see how long it takes The Itch to see Chamber of Secrets! I   
waited until November first to see the first one. CoS came out last   
night (at least, in my city, it did). How long you think I can go this   
time? Until after PoA comes out? Hehehe, if I do it that way, I'll   
probably see PoA first. Remember, Lupin is my favorite character.   
*grin*  
  
Itch no no no ownies Harry Potter.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Thirteen: Beatings  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
Harry Potter was _very_ glad Virginia Weasley did _not_ know the   
limitless ammo spell. Granted, Harry had created the spell himself, but   
still... she'd run out of ammo some time ago, having tried, repeatedly,   
to kill Draco and himself. Both he and Draco had taken hits from both   
bullets and from being pistol whipped. For a moment, the green eyed boy   
wondered if he had a concussion. Then he shook it off; if he did have   
one, he'd find out soon enough.  
  
As it was, he was trying to keep himself from being skewered on her   
constantly shifting battle staff. Lance, sword, whatever it was. Ginny   
was changing it's shape so fast that he didn't know what it really was.   
And then, she was suddenly gone.  
  
Blinking, the dark haired boy looked round, then looked down. Ginny was   
pinned beneath a very familiar massive black dog.  
  
"Hey Sirius!" he sung cheerfully, and Draco pulled himself up from   
where he'd been playing dead, to escape the wrath of the Bald One. Note   
to self, he thought with a grin, continue to call her the Bald One   
until her hair grows back.  
  
Padfoot shot a look in Malfoy's direction, and Harry grinned even wider   
than he had been already, "Oh, that's just Draco, Sirius! He's training   
to be a weapon, just like you!"  
  
"And what, exactly, is a 'weapon', Harry?" interjected one Remus Lupin,   
as the werewolf finally managed to catch up to his friend and partner.   
He eyed the turf of the Quidditch Pitch dubiously. He could see very   
well that it had been shot up, and that there were four guns laying   
scattered on the ground. What had they been up to?  
  
"Why, Professor Lupin! It's so nice to see you! When did you get here?"   
Draco cut in smoothly, still grinning over their little prank. Lupin   
shot Malfoy a dark look, and turned back to Harry, wanting his answer.   
  
Harry wiggled his fingers, "A weapon is... something you attack people   
with!" and he grabbed the Amazonian Battle Staff that was Ginny's,   
"Like this! Yah! Ha! Zap! Bang!"  
  
"...'Zap'... 'bang'...?" Lupin and Draco dead panned as one.  
  
Potter scowled, "I was _trying_ to come up with sound effects."  
  
"Staffs don't go 'zap' 'bang', Potter."  
  
He stuck his tongue out in response. Lupin sighed, and was about to   
comment on maturity, when he realised that Draco had stuck his tongue   
out, as well. And these boys were going to be graduating next year? Oh   
dear, the world is doomed...  
  
"Sirius..." came a growl from beneath the dog, "get off of me! Get off!   
I'm not going to kill Harry-- not now, at least-- so you can stop   
sitting on me!"  
  
Snuffles snickered, climbing off of Ginny, and finally getting a good   
look at her. You have not seen funny, until you've seen a dog fall over   
and convulse like he's laughing really hard. Virginia's carrot-red   
eyebrow was twitching violently as she glared down at him, which just   
made the dog laugh harder.   
  
---  
  
Virginia was in a murderous rage as she stalked through the halls   
towards her first class of the morning. Her face was bright red in a   
mixture of that rage and in embarrassment as she did so. Ouuuu, those   
two were so dead-- no, make it three, she decided. Sirius had been   
laughing, so Sirius would die. Painfully.  
  
How dare they!   
  
She'd only found out the worst of the prank when she'd tried to charm   
her hair into regrowing; her hair wouldn't regrow. She had no idea what   
Harry had done to modify the spell, she should couldn't seem to break   
through it to get her hair back. She would be stuck with a hair-less   
head until it grew back naturally. _Naturally_!  
  
What's good about being a Witch if you have to let things take their   
natural course? Hmph.  
  
And then, then Harry had the gall to say, "Well, at least now it won't   
be falling into your face!" Ouuu, she was going to kill him! Didn't he   
understand? He had long hair-- granted, it only fell to his chin, but   
that was long, sorta-- he should understand how sacred long hair is!   
How much time, and effort, was put into growing it out just right...  
  
Of course, since she was headed to her first class of the day-- Defense   
Against the Dark Arts-- she'd already been to breakfast. That was where   
her embarrassment came from. How could she face her friends, or Ron?   
Thank god the twins had graduated the year before! She would have   
really gotten it from them if they hadn't!   
  
Well, she held out hope that her hair would be grown back by the time   
Summer Vacation came about. Then she wouldn't have to worry about her   
mother's reaction to the shaving... but she had a feeling Ron had   
already sent Molly a letter. For a moment, she wondered if Ron did   
anything without telling their mum, then decided that he had to-- he'd   
been on far to many adventures not to have.  
  
Shaking her head free of idyl thoughts, she entered the classroom, and   
settled down into her regular seat. She blinked in surprise to find a   
letter waiting for her. Confused, she deftly picked it up, opening it   
to find... muggle paper? How curious. Chewing on her lip, she began to   
read the messy lines of a ink.  
  
'Virginia, I hear you're learning to become one of the Living Weapons.   
You should feel privileged. Only one other girl ever became a Weapon. A   
muggle, and she went by the name Naginata. Ask Weapon-- that is,   
Harry-- about her sometime. Hmm, there's an idea. Ask him about Weapon,   
too. I'm sure he'll have some... interesting answers. In any case, you   
should probably look up. Class is about to start. --D. Wolfos'  
  
As instructed, she looked up, and was surprised to find the old once   
retired professor looking at her. His lips quirked into a smirk, only   
seconds before the door slammed shut, and class began. Ginny tucked the   
note into her robe, and became intensely focused on the lesson,   
ignoring the few titters here and there about her lack of hair.  
  
---  
  
Harry and Draco were, yet again, skipping classes. This time, it was   
Draco's Herbology class, and Harry's Transfiguration class. They were   
holed up in one of the secret rooms of Hogwarts, with Sirius-- Remus   
had gone to inform Dumbledore of Death Eater movements.   
  
"So what have you done?"  
  
Sirius looked confused, "Uh, could you be more specific, Harry? I've   
done lots of things..."  
  
"Towards being a Weapon," Draco snorted, "wasn't that obvious? Why   
_else_ would you be here, mutt?"  
  
"Why you little--"  
  
"Cut it out!" Weapon barked, steel eyes almost glowing in the room's   
firelight, "Padfoot, settle down. Draco, lay off the insults for a bit,   
would you? I wanna get through this without a life and death struggle."  
  
Eerily pale blue eyes glared at Draco for a few more moments, before   
turning back to his godson, "Well, I've picked up a bunch of weapons,   
and I'm teaching myself how to use them... and I tried to do The   
Challenge but..."  
  
"But?" wondered Weapon. He was curious as to what had happened when   
Sirius tried to preform The Challenge before being trained far enough.   
The Challenge was generally a fight against a large number of   
opponents, all at the same time, wherein one had to defeat everyone in   
a set period of time, as well as prevent recognition the entire time.   
There were other little bits and pieces here and there, but that was   
all Weapon had described to Sirius.  
  
"I certainly didn't stumble across my weapon Name!" he chuckled, "I've   
still got bruises from that fight..."  
  
"What's a weapon Name?" Draco turned to his instructor, confused, "I   
don't get it."  
  
"It's just a name all other Living Weapons know you by," Potter   
informed the student, "There are all sorts of different Names-- I've   
heard of Naginata, Scimitar, Zanbatou, Arrow, and a few others. The   
Living Weapons aren't a very wide-spread group, Draco."  
  
"Oh..."  
  
"I'll tell you more about it when Virginia shows up," the silver-eyed   
man nodded to himself, before turning back to his godfather, "And the   
reason you didn't find your Name was that you didn't actually preform   
The Challenge. I didn't explain the whole thing to you in the letter I   
sent you. Only the basics. So, what weapons have you chosen?"  
  
He flicked his wrist, producing a handful of steel darts, as well as   
razor-bladed shuriken, from his robes, "General projectiles. I like   
throwing things at people."  
  
"I would have thought you'd like to just beat people up," sniffed the   
Malfoy, "you seem like the type."  
  
"You little prat!" the animagus howled, pouncing on the teenager. Harry   
watched in amusement as they scuffled, having changed back from Weapon   
during his little 'speech'. It was actually pretty funny to watch   
Sirius and Draco duke it out, punching and kicking at each other. He   
was pretty sure that by the end of it the two of them would be grinning   
and proud of the bruises they'd obtained.  
  
Of course, each of them would proclaim _they_ had own the fight, and   
then they'd argue, and it would happen again. Harry smirked. It was   
good training.  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Hehehehe, My father came home drunk while I was writing this. He's a   
funny drunk-- and he had KFC. Dad only gets take-out when he's drunk.   
The fact that it's, like, midnight just makes it more funny. 


	14. Plot sorta

I never said that the Weapons had to be born that way, Echo. I said   
that Harry accidentally tapped into the power that the Weapons use when   
he was a child. Which is a very important plot point, actually. *grins*   
I have evil plans, and I'm building up to it. And Draco and Ginny are   
in there for comic relief, otherwise this would have gotten to the   
"Harry as a psychopathic murderer" type fic. He's not a psychopathic   
murderer. Just psychopathic. :)  
  
Mary-- Harry's weapon name is indeed Weapon. I kinda thought that was  
obvious by this point... sorry if it wasn't.  
  
Oh, about "spicing it up", radical_girl... can't. I don't do fluffy   
romances. I really can't write that stuff; I've a dirty mind, and I'm   
a masochist. Nice combination, eh? The only "romance" I can write, is   
Final Fantasy VIII Hard Yaoi Kinky Domination Sex. Usually SxS. But   
that has nothing to do with HP, or Blackened Sunrise, so I'm going to   
stop that train of thought right now.  
  
Itch doesn't own anything from Harry Potter!   
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Fourteen: Plot... sorta.  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
  
Not many people would have assumed that this room was host to a great   
evil.   
  
A water bed, set in a fine, deep oak frame, thick sheets of emerald and   
obsidian, pillows in shockingly brilliant shades tossed here and there,   
and even a muggle child's stuff snake toy haphazardly thrown in the   
center of said bed. The walls were painted a vibrant pastel green, and   
the curtains were simple forest green. An oak desk stood off to one   
side, thick tomes and scrolls scattered about it, and an assortment of   
muggle pens and wizarding quills and bottles of ink amongst them.  
  
The room was on the executive floor of a fairly large muggle   
corporation based around electronics-- but surprisingly, the room   
contained no electronics at all. To be expected of the one who lived in   
the room.  
  
Thomas Marvolo Riddle, more commonly known as the Dark Lord Voldemort,   
stalked in the room, flicking his wrist in the direction of the door,   
and slamming it shut. Muggles, he thought with disgust, idiots, the lot   
of them!  
  
Now, normally, Riddle would have killed off any and all muggles around   
him, but for now, he restrained himself. Some muggles had uses-- more   
specifically, the muggles that had been serving him as Tom Riddle, Head   
of the Institute for Experimental Sciences. Experimental Sciences   
indeed, he thought with amusement. It was an interesting way to   
convince muggles to give themselves up to be experimented on with   
various enchanted items, and potions.   
  
If he killed a few of the patients, it was okay! Everything had been   
cleared, and everyone knew the risks involved. A devious smirk crossed   
his face as he sprawled across his bed, and pulled the stuffed snake up   
to him. He grinned into it's glassy brown eyes, waving it about. He   
always played with this stuffed animal when Nagini was sleeping.   
  
Nagini always slept through the daylight hours, and there was a good   
three hours until sunset, when she normally awoke.   
  
"Well now, another day gone by, Rilos," he patted the stuffed snake's   
head, "And six more muggles have agreed to be my little pets!" With his   
bouncing of the toy's head, he imagined that it was agreeing with him.  
  
A few moments later, he sighed and put the toy down. Dammit, he really   
missed his best friend. Well, he didn't know if he could call him his   
'best friend', but 'old friend' he could at least manage. He didn't   
even know where the fool was, let alone how to contact him! How the   
hell does he manage to stay hidden so much? Especially with how violent   
he could get...  
  
No, no, no need to think about that, he thought with amusement, quickly   
banishing all thoughts of the sadistic, intelligent, lavender eyed man   
who had been the first to call him Voldemort, to the back of his mind.   
He had a Death eater meeting that night, and he had to think up tasks   
for all the morons to accomplish.  
  
Hmph, fat lot of fools they were. He really disliked people who bowed   
to the whims of others, and his little hordes of minions were just   
cannon fodder to him. He tapped his chin in thought, silently   
dissolving the illusion that made him appear human. Perhaps he could   
feed Severus some more false information to give to Albus. That was   
always fun.  
  
He loved toying with the minds of the spies in his midst. That was his   
greatest joy-- because he knew who each and every one of them were. The   
Dark Mark wasn't just a mark, it gave him access to each and everyone   
of their memories. He always made a show of killing spies; it's just   
that none of the spies realised that he was just killing bumbling   
fools, and not the spies themselves.  
  
It was always fun to feed the spies false information, know that the   
Ministry had gotten it, then to send a team a bit larger, a bit more   
powerful, a bit more destructive, to occupy the aurors while he and his   
inner circle went about randomly killing muggles.  
  
Riddle was indeed a twisted little man.  
  
---  
  
Hermione dropped onto the couch beside Harry, and watched him for a few   
minutes. The emerald eyed teen looked up from going over the scrolls of   
translated text after a few minutes, "Something wrong, 'Mione?"  
  
"Why are you researching Merlin's Runes, Harry?"  
  
He grinned, "I'm surprised it took so long for you to ask."  
  
"I would have asked sooner, but I was trying to convince myself it   
wasn't any of my business," she huffed, "And then I thought, but this   
is _Harry_, so anything he's sticking his nose in is obviously my   
business."  
  
Snickering, Potter nodded his head a bit absently. Thankfully, it was   
true that he had expected her to ask sooner, and had formulated and   
excuse. He really didn't need another Weapon to train. Really, he'd   
only expected to be training Sirius in how to access the powers that   
the Weapons tapped into when they did battle. Now he had Draco and   
Virginia on his "team" as well.   
  
"Okay, you've heard of Wandless Magic, right?"  
  
"Yes," she frowned, "I haven't come across anything in the book you   
gave me that leads to Wandless Magic..."  
  
"I'm getting there, I'm getting there!" he grinned a bit wider,   
"Merlin's Runes were designed to bind things, trap them, keep them from   
being used, right? Right. Well, apparently, if you combine just the   
right runes, you can prevent someone from using Wandless Magic."  
  
"So you want to use the runes to prevent someone from using Wandless   
Magic?"  
  
That had never really occurred to him before, which was really dumb,   
since he knew they were using te runes to bind _him_. Hmm, maybe if he   
used the Runes on Dumbledore, or hell, even Riddle, he could reduce   
their power a bit. Yes! That might just work! Ouuu, he'd have to ask   
Sirius about this...  
  
"Yeah, that's it, 'Mione," he flashed her a smug smirk, "I just have to   
figure out the right runes, and the mechanics behind them."  
  
She nodded, having figured out that he wanted to know what each rune   
meant, instead of just what they did when put in a certain order, a   
long while ago, "So why didn't you ask Professor Dumbledore?"  
  
Good question. Think Weapon, think! "Er... I did... he just... didn't   
want me to... look into that stuff. It's restricted, you know."  
  
"Restricted!" her eyes widened, "How on earth did you get this out of   
the library without Madam Pince bearing down on you, if it's   
Restricted?"  
  
He waggled his eyebrows, "That, my dear, dear friend... is a secret!"   
he was grinning stupidly, even as she beaned him over the head with a   
pillow. Laughing, he retaliated in kind, and soon they had a pillow   
fight in full swing-- pulling Ron into it when the sixteen year old   
returned from Quidditch Practice.  
  
For a little while, Harry didn't feel older than his old friends. He   
just... fit.  
  
For a little while.  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
I'm being distracted by potato chips and a movie, that's why this is   
shorter than normal. It's Saturday Night, and in The Itch Household   
(okay, so it's not _really_ called that...) that means "Don't go to   
sleep until Sunday Afternoon". We've got a pile of movies rented, and   
my mother has catered to my addiction to Pringles. I've got three   
can-thingys!   
  
I'll try to make-up the lack of length in tommarrow's chapter. 


	15. Tsunami

Okay, so I just finished reading a shit load of angsty FFVIII SxS fics.   
Perfect time to write Chapter Fifteen! *dumbass grin*  
  
Miaka-- I don't have to have someone else draw him. I like to fancy   
myself an artist. I've drawn him dozens of times. Now, if I ever got   
off me lazy arse and scanned them, they'd be up on my mediaminer   
account.   
  
Temptress... I understand what you mean. Isn't it though? *grins*  
  
The Itch _still_ doesn't own Harry Potter  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Fifteen: Tsunami  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
"Hey there, oh Bald One."  
  
"You are a dead man, Malfoy. A dead, dead man."  
  
Draco was grinning widely as Virginia stalked past him, to sprawl on   
the grass and await their "illustrious" leader. It was only days away   
from Halloween, and several weeks since the "incident" in which Draco   
and Harry had shaved the youngest Weasley's head.   
  
Hermione had finished translating the first half of the book, between   
doing homework, of course. Hopefully, Harry would be able to find the   
information he needed in that pile of papers, but it was doubtful. The   
dog-eared page that he assumed held all the answers was in the second   
half of the book.  
  
Sirius had caught up to the other two would-be Weapons, fighting wise.   
Being older, and a former Auror, prior to Azkaban, meant he had a lot   
more experience, and it was more like relearning old tricks, and not   
being taught from scratch.  
  
Draco had been playing "spy". He snooped in Snape's things-- after all,   
Snape wouldn't punish his favorite student, now would he?-- and learned   
about Deatheater movements. He snuck through the passages, having   
re-liberated the Marauder's Map from Filch, listening in on   
Dumbledore's conversations for useful information.  
  
Ginny-- whose hair was now about a centimeter long, and looked kinda   
funny-- had delegated herself the Interrogator. Really, all she did was   
start rumors in order to get information that might be helpful. Both   
Weasley and Malfoy were doing their best to seem helpful in the task of   
removing the wards Harry had to wear.  
  
An invisibility cloak was swung off the shoulders of a certain   
psychopath, even as a dog that had been mistaken for the Grim more than   
once bounded out of the darkness. Soon enough, Sirius Black had joined   
the two sixteen year olds, and single fifteen year old. Before Potter   
could announce the plans for their practice, Virginia cut in.  
  
"I've been meaning to ask you, Harry, who's 'Weapon'?"  
  
"Weapon?" Harry was taken aback by the question, and tried to recall   
ever mentioning his other in front of his "students". He hadn't, not   
that he could recall... "Where did you hear that name?"  
  
"Professor Wolfos," she stated calmly, still holding that unconscious   
respect for Daemen that was a result of his known violent reactions to   
students breaking rules around him.  
  
"Figures," he moaned, "Weapon's... well, he's this guy, right?"  
  
"'He's this guy, right?'" Draco mimicked, "C'mon Potter, that's not an   
answer."  
  
"Shut it, you," he smacked his pranking partner upside the head, "Okay,   
so Weapon doesn't have a body, so he just kinda... channels himself   
through me."  
  
"He channels... are you saying he's a spirit?" wondered his godfather,   
looking amazingly confused, "Oh, yeah, I can't stick around any longer,   
Harry. Dumbledore has decided to send me and Remus on a mission to   
Russia for Merlin knows what reason."  
  
"Don't swear by Merlin. He's an asshole," Harry muttered, "And I guess   
you could call him a spirit. Uhm... I'm not even sure if Weapon is   
male. He's never said anything on it."  
  
"So how long has Weapon been..." how could she put this? Oh, screw   
delicacy. This was Harry! "...been using you?"  
  
"Fifteen years," Harry grinned, swinging the chain he'd been playing   
with around him.  
  
"Fifteen years?! You're saying he's been around since Riddle tried to   
off you?" Draco was staring at him incredulously, "Shiiiit, why hasn't   
anyone noticed?"  
  
"Weapon was kinda trapped until fourth year," he shrugged, "I think   
Tommy-boy resurrecting himself with my blood helped to free him."  
  
"Okay, this is hurting my head," Ginny grumbled, "Let's just get to   
killing each other, so I can think about this when I should be in   
Potions."  
  
The other three grinned at her, and she scowled darkly. Thankfully,   
though, Potter agreed, turning to head towards the Forbidden Forest. A   
bit hesitantly, Draco followed, still getting a chill every time he   
looked at the forest. Sirius and Ginny drifted after him.  
  
"Hurry up, don't want to get lost, do you?" called their instructor,   
and the trio raced each other to catch up to Harry before he entered   
the darkness of the forest. They edged along after the confident   
strides of the lunatic, wondering if he really was going to lead them   
to their deaths. The Forbidden Forest was not exactly the best place to   
be, especially at three in the morning.  
  
Malfoy opened his mouth to question Potter, but cut himself off as his   
eyes widened. They had entered a clearing, and it was obvious Harry had   
been there before. There was the remains of the a campfire off to one   
side, a couple of sleeping bags, a change of clothing-- including   
Gryffindor Robes-- and the entire area was saturated with protecting   
wards that rivaled Knockturn Alley in magic detection prevention.  
  
"I've been testing the limits of my wards in here," he said as way of   
explanation, "It's why I don't show up for breakfast some days; I'm   
passed out here. Any ways! In today's lesson, we start the fun stuff!"  
  
Virginia fingered the holster strapped to her thigh, and the gun there   
within, "I thought we were already having fun."  
  
"Maybe you're having fun, Oh Bald Masochist," Draco muttered, "but to   
burst your bubble, I _don't_ like trying to dodge the fire from your   
AK-47."  
  
"Awww, is Dracy-poo having manliness problems?"  
  
Sirius looked about to burst into laughter at the brewing fight between   
the two purebloods, when Harry cut in, fairly annoyed.  
  
"You two better bloody well cut it out before I have to beat you to   
death! There is a reason we have to be within my wards," he moved over   
to a tree stump, and dumped off a number of his weapons, "Strip off   
your arms, you're going to learn how to tap into the power behind the   
Weapons."  
  
The trio looked confused, and Draco ventured, "There's a power?"  
  
"Twit," muttered the Weapon, "Of course there's a power! How do you   
think muggles manage to be such effective Weapons?"  
  
"I'd forgotten muggles could be Weapons," grumbled the boy who was more   
than reluctant to admit that muggles could be something stronger than a   
number of wizards.  
  
"Take the bloody weapons off, and I'll explain it better," Harry   
grumbled, "you don't want to accidentally destroy them when you first   
channel."  
  
That made sense, and the three of them removed the weapons they had   
learned to use. This left all of them feeling bereft and naked, so much   
so that Draco had crossed his arms over his chest, just so he could   
wrap his hands around his forearms, where he'd had the Stallion Blades   
strapped for weeks.  
  
"Okay, first, it's really easy to feel the well of power that is the   
magic that witches and wizards use. Ignore it," that was easier said   
than done. That pool had been the driving force behind the trio of   
purebloods for so long, that it was hard not to reach out and immerse   
themselves into it. Almost as one, their eyes fell closed in   
concentration, and Harry's voice merely became background noise.  
  
"Reach behind it, or across it, or around it, whichever you can   
visualize better," his voice was soft and lulling, and they looked for   
ways to get past the magic that was so ingrained into their lives--   
surprisingly, Draco reached across first, only to be confronted by   
empty space. He hovered in nothingness, looking for something,   
anything, that could possibly be this power Harry was speaking of.  
  
And then he was hearing Harry in his mind, no longer by his ears, heard   
instructions meant only for him, and he had to wonder if Ginny and   
Sirius were getting their own special tutoring in finding the Weapon's   
power. Then he no longer had time to wonder.  
  
"Feel it, Draco," whispered Harry's voice, "don't try to see it with   
your eyes, in darkness it is black, in brilliance it is white. It hides   
from your eyes and your ears. Feel for it."  
  
It felt strange to close his mind's eyes, to have mentally closed his   
eyes, and tried to feel out the power. And suddenly, he could. It   
eluded him, dancing and weaving out of his grasp. It sung with   
knowledge, it sung with strength, it sung with insanity. He hesitated   
in going after it when he felt that-- insanity? Could he knowledgeably   
take that step into madness, merely by taking hold of this power.  
  
"C'mon Draco, you can do it," cajoled Potter's voice, "If I can do it,   
certainly someone of your stature can..."  
  
Irritation flashed through him, as years upon years worth of frustrated   
attempts at being better than Harry bloody Potter influenced his   
actions. He made a grab for the power, but it weaved away from him.  
  
"Make it come to you."  
  
And he knew, understood what he had to do. He began to move with the   
power, drawing it closer, but never actually trying to force it to him.   
He danced and swayed with every movement of that thread of power.   
Closer, and closer it crept-- and suddenly, it wasn't a thread anymore.   
It was a wave, a tsunami that crashed into him, and it was drowning   
him.  
  
---  
  
Ron rolled over, unable to sleep, "Hey, Harry?"  
  
Nothing. Not even a snore. A bit grumpily, Ron resigned himself to   
being stuck staring at the canopy of his four poster bed. No less than   
five minutes later, he jerked straight up, eyes wide and unseeing. His   
scrabbled at his sheets, trying to find something to hold onto, and yet   
unable to. Pain lanced through his chest-- oh dear gods it hurt...!  
  
Finally it faded, leaving him feeling drained and tired, and confused.   
What... what was that? There was something wrong, he could feel it.   
Someone in his family had just done something... something either   
incredibly stupid, or incredibly dangerous, or possibly both. That was   
the nature of the bonds of a wizarding family-- that is, if the family   
decides to cast the spells to form the bond. His parents had cast the   
bonds at the birth of every child.   
  
Panicked, the boy rolled over, crawling out of his sheets, and flew   
over to the edge of Harry's bed, "Harry, mate, I think we've--" but he   
cut himself off.  
  
Harry wasn't in his bed, and it appeared he hadn't even gone to sleep   
that night. He had a sinking feeling that whatever had happened had   
involved Harry, and that left only one other member of the Weasley   
family to have been involved-- Ginny.  
  
A quick search revealed that Harry's Invisibility Cloak was gone, and a   
lump was forming in Ron's throat. He didn't need the cloak to sneak   
about, but it certainly helped.   
  
He flew out of the boy's dorm, feeling like there was lead in his   
limbs, wondering if his sister and friend were safe.  
  
---  
  
He'd laid the three out in the sleeping bags he'd procured specifically   
for this reason. God knew that he'd been insensate like this for a   
couple hours. It always took a bit for the body to accustom itself to   
the power.  
  
Or, perhaps, Weapon's voice was monotone in the back of his mind, it is   
that it takes time for the power to redesign the body to fit it's   
specifications.  
  
Maybe, Harry agreed. Do you think they'll be like us?  
  
Who is to say? the other responded calmly, Perhaps, or perhaps not.   
Time will tell.  
  
"Do you ever not sound like one of those muggle councillors?" Potter   
grumbled out loud, turning his attention to the wards on his arms. He   
could recognize a few of the symbols, now that he had read over parts   
of the translated rune book. He also knew the counter runes; a fair   
sized blade shimmered into existence in his palm, and he scratched the   
counters into the air above the original runes. There was a glow,   
accompanied by a ringing hum, and he felt the power behind Merlin's   
Rune's fade.  
  
It would not last long-- he'd tried, once before. He'd cast the counter   
runes, then left the Forest, only to find that the original runes over   
powered the counters before he managed to even get to the doors of the   
castle. It was frustrating to say the least. However, he could still   
practice with this moment of reprieve.  
  
The power hummed in the air as he drew it's volumous waves up within   
him, feeling deliriously high on it. Laughter bubbled forth as he   
glided about the clearing, fingers trailing through the air, followed   
by an array of brilliantly colored sparks. Soon enough, he calmed,   
growing used to the power flowing through him, once again. It was so   
hard to feel so wonderful for such a short period, before the power was   
drained away and sealed.   
  
Just to be on the safe side, he scratched the runes into the air again,   
more power behind it this time, but hardly enough to counteract the   
original spell. He didn't know _all_ the counter runes, after all.  
  
With that done, he reached out, consciously pulling the power to him,   
and the shadows began to congregate on him. They pulled up off the   
ground, swirling like smoke about him, ready and willing to do the   
bidding of their master. The shadows caressed his cheeks, and he smiled   
blissfully. This was why a Weapon never had a romantic relationship.  
  
The power catered to their every need, to keep them from needing   
anything but it. It just took time for a Weapon to grow used to the   
power, to create a bond with it. Harry James Potter was the exception   
to the rule. The shadows had been one with him since the moment he took   
a piece of Thomas Marvolo Riddle into himself, and destroyed the   
spirit's mortal shell.   
  
They had helped him, hidden him from the rages of a drunken uncle. They   
had protected him from the maliciousness of an overweight cousin. They   
had empowered him in the face of a bullying aunt. The shadows weren't a   
part of him.   
  
They were him.  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Told ya I'd make up for yesterday's short chapter. :) 


	16. Draco

Be proud, I managed to tear myself away from Undocumented Features   
(this is what, the eighth time I've read it?), just to write this   
chapter. Yay!  
  
Harry thinks oddly-- to himself, he thinks of Weapon as part of him, he jsut doesn't really realise that he thinks that. When he speaks outloud, he voices the fact that he believes them to be two separate entities in one body.   
  
Schulyr- Celtic Music? Hmm, that's not one I thought of going with this   
fic. Interesting that it fits.  
  
Sometimes I wish I could write as much as my friend Leigh does for one   
chapter. Then I realise the reason she can write so much for one   
chapter is because she only releases it one chapter per week, despite   
being three or four weeks ahead, just so she can spend time working on   
perfecting every little detail. That's when I go "I like my way better,   
because I have more fans that you do, nyah-nyah-na-nyah!" and run away   
damned fast before Karate Master Leigh decides to Kung Fu my ass.  
  
Itch definitely doesn't not have rights to anything Harry Potter-ish.   
That's Rowling's thing.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Sixteen: Draco  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
As he'd been the first to find the power, so was he the first to   
awaken.  
  
Mind spinning and churning, the rippling whisper of power rushing   
through his skull and turning his thoughts inwards, Draco Malfoy   
attempted to sit up. Key word being attempted.  
  
He was halfway to a sitting position when his arms gave out, and his   
head hit the ground with a resounding smack. He yelped a bit, wincing   
as he did so, as it sent a spike of pain through his cranium, mingling   
with the now laughing power.   
  
Wait a second... laughing?  
  
That was indeed laughter rushing through the power that had drowned   
him, and rebirthed him. He paused, frowning at the thought. Rebirth?   
Was that what had happened to him. He clenched his fists, then uncurled   
his fingers one-by-one, oddly enough feeling the pull of his muscles as   
he did so. It was an odd sensation, not one he was familiar with.  
  
"Well, well, looks like you're up, Dragon-boy," came the far to   
familiar chuckle of one Harry Potter. He slit open a steel-grey eye to   
peer up into maliciously sparkling emerald eyes. He drew his lips back   
in a snarl, growling, "Get out of my face, Potter!"  
  
"Nice teeth," the smirk on Harry's face widened into a grin, and Draco   
was a bit startled to find that the shadows that had shaded his face   
were moving and dancing in the air around his instructor and sort-of   
friend, "Sharp and pointy."  
  
He let what Potter said sink in for a few minutes, before sluggishly   
blinking, going "huh?" and running his tongue over his teeth. A small   
yelp of pain was uttered when he realised that he did, indeed, have   
quite the set of fangs now, and he could taste the faintly iron taste   
of veela blood beneath the startlingly powerful taste of potassium. Why   
did his blood taste like potassium?  
  
"The power alters us to fit it's needs," hummed the older Weapon.  
  
"The bloody hell...?"  
  
Green eyes flashed to silver, and Draco started. He had never seen the   
transformation happen so quickly, at least, without Potter blinking.   
The monotone voice of the other Weapon was surprisingly silky, "Harry   
and I shift between forms. That is our alteration."  
  
"'Our'?" quoth the teenager, utterly confused.   
  
"Our," repeated Weapon, "We are of the shadows. You... we do not know."  
  
Draco rolled his eyes, fairly annoyed. Yeah, dealing with Harry was   
dangerous, and potentially lethal, but dealing with this silver-eyed   
man was just plain frustrating. He was safer, if only because he spoke   
what he meant, did what he said, and never wasted speech nor movement.   
In short, he was an emotionless bastard who got right to the point   
without bothering with the journey.  
  
Weapon pulled away and went to check the other two, to see if they had   
emerged from their own mental rebirthing, and Draco decided to   
catalogue all the changes to himself that he could. First things first,   
his eyes turned to the physical. Generally speaking, there was little   
change to his body at first glance. At second, the way his fingers   
tapered into ice-pale claws was a bit shocking. He also appeared to   
have a thin layer of silvery-white scales instead of body hair, which   
was at the same time both interesting and annoying.   
  
Another new feature was the fact that he had a tail. For what reason   
could there possibly be for him having a tail? And it wasn't the kind   
of soft, fluffy tails one imagines when they think of people with   
tails. This was a three foot length of white and silver scales, tipped   
by a jagged blade. At least his school robes would be able to hide the   
damned thing.  
  
It would be a bit harder to hide the fact that he had four boney   
protrusions extending from each shoulder blade. They were approximately   
three inches in length, and apparently razor sharp. Great, he was a   
walking blade.  
  
After griping to himself about physical changes for a few minutes-- and   
wondering why Bloody Potter didn't have any physical changes-- Malfoy   
finally turned to his psychological changes. The first and most   
important thing in his mind was the fact that he knew how to use his   
new bodily weapons without ever having to learn anything. It might take   
awhile to ingrain the thoughts and ideas into instinct, but he at least   
didn't have to experiment just to figure out the basics.  
  
Following that was the odd sensation of knowing he could channel   
wizarding magicks through his tail, claws and spine with nary a though.   
All this became known to him by the silken, whispering voice of the   
power that hummed in his ear.   
  
That voice... was it why Harry was spacey and a bit of a lunatic at   
times? Was that the truth behind the power of the Weapons-- that it   
drove you insane by whispering in your ear at all times? It was already   
telling him that he needed to get up and hunt, that his prey would not   
wait for him.  
  
It was also telling him that Harry was a dangerous, dangerous being,   
and it was better to have the man on his side. Although, the power did   
not call Harry a man-- it called him the "Revered One". Odd that   
something that is pure energy would call a mortal being revered.   
  
He stood gracefully, the blades extending from his shoulder blades   
twitching as he stretched. It would take awhile to get used to those.   
  
Draco noted with faint amusement, that would likely have been outrage   
prior to his first channeling, that his clothing had been burned away   
in the rush of power. Cool silver eyes watched him from the shadows as   
Potter stood from checking up on Sirius. The was nary an emotion in   
those eyes, as Weapon tilted his head.  
  
"Summon something to wear," the monotone commanded, the shadow-wrapped   
figure drifting closer. Eyes of steel melted into eyes of emerald, and   
he clapped a hand on Draco's shoulder, careful not to cut himself on   
the blades, "Then try channeling again. Maybe you'll learn something. I   
doubt it though."  
  
He chuckled, moving away from the now scowling youth. Potter scratched   
the runes into the air again, strengthening his counter wards, and   
began to play with the shadows.  
  
---  
  
In a flurry of movement, Ron flew out the doors of Hogwarts. He'd   
checked all of Ginny's, and all of Harry's, usual haunts, but neither   
was around. He knew there was trouble going on, and when he found those   
two...  
  
"Blood hell mate," he spat, "you better have a soddin' good reason for   
this!" cloak swirling around his pajama-clad form, the second youngest   
Weasley pounded across the grass out to the Quidditch Pitch. After   
that, he'd check Hagrid's hut, and the Shrieking Shack.   
  
If they weren't injured when he found them, they definitely weren't   
going to be going back to the castle without a good number of bruises   
for worrying him!   
  
---  
  
Draco's head snapped up, attention drawn away from re-fixing the   
Stallion Blades to his arms, turning in the direction that was Hogwarts   
as something... new came into his senses. He didn't understand the   
information the power was feeding him-- it was a confusing melee of   
sensory input he couldn't possibly know, ways to confront whatever was   
coming, and thoughts of how this new thing was prey.  
  
"Easy there, Draco," Harry muttered, having turned towards the   
sensations he was receiving. He had had months of training before he   
went back into wizarding and muggle society, so as not to lose control.   
Draco would be heading into the population of Hogwarts later that day.   
  
Well... it should prove for some interesting confrontations...  
  
In any case, Harry had more practice reigning in the thoughts that the   
power invoked in him. That was part of the secret as to why Weapons   
were such impressive killers-- the knowledge of how to defeat an   
opponent was directly feed into their minds. Against muggles, it would   
be a slaughter. Against Wizards, a one-sided battle that would   
ultimately result in the wizard's death. Against other Weapons, it   
would prove to be a fight worth seeing.   
  
Death, mayhem and destruction in an intricate dance.   
  
"What the hell is that?" growled the scaled boy, his tail twitching   
irritably as his lips pulled back into a snarling grimace of trying to   
control the power's want for a hunt.   
  
"That, Dragon-boy, is what our power feels when something human enters   
it's range-- the castle has wards up to prevent our senses from   
extending within it."  
  
Narrowed, cat-slitted eyes of ash turned to meet amused emerald, "Why   
the hell doesn't it react to _you_ then, Potter? You're human!"  
  
He smirked.  
  
"I never said I was human, now did I?"  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Damn, but I like Draco. He seems to be getting a lot of scenes.   
Hopefully next chapter we'll get to Sirius and Virginia waking up. And   
Ron finding them. Cross your fingers though, because it's likely to be   
doubtful. We should all know by now how my mind gets on one track and   
completely deviates from the pre-made plan.   
  
And it seems like the wards do more than just seal away his power and   
Weapon, hmm? Anyone want to offer suggestions for what our dearest   
Weapon physically looks like? I'm scrounging for ideas. No worries just   
yet, though. It won't be for a while that we find out what he appears   
like.   
  
The wards need to be removed first, after all! 


	17. Fennec

It's late, I'm tired, and I want to finish this so I can go to bed...  
  
katrina - I did think about the wings. I'm just trying to decide if   
they're too cliche to put in or not.   
  
webweaver - Wow, that was in depth. Thanks for the wish of luck! Yeah,   
I figured that Snape saw Harry while he was in Harry form, since he's  
easier to identitfy then. When he shifts to Weapon, he's pretty much  
a completely different person, and it would be much harder to identify  
him as "The Boy Who Lived".  
  
Harry Potter belongs to someone who is not The Itch.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Seventeen: Fennec  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
Ron Weasley was officially Freaking Out.  
  
His sister wasn't _anywhere_ he'd checked. His best friend wasn't   
_anywhere_ he'd checked. It was like they'd vanished on him. He'd even,   
once checking the Shrieking Shack, gone tearing back into Hogwarts to   
see if they'd gone back. Nope, neither was there, and nor was Harry's   
Invisibility Cloak.  
  
The feeling that Ginny was in trouble just kept getting stronger. What   
was going on? What could possibly make him feel like... oh dear, sweet,   
Merlin. Please, oh please, don't let it be that.  
  
His legs ached as he hurtled back down the stairs from Gryffindor   
Tower, flinging himself out of the doors at a dead run, and bolting   
towards the Forbidden Forest.  
  
Please Merlin, don't let it be what-- _who_-- he thought it was...!  
  
---  
  
When Sirius pulled himself back into consciousness, he decided he was   
just going to laze about for a few minutes. Good Merlin, he hadn't felt   
this good since... since before Azkaban!  
  
Eventually, though, he roused himself enough to shove himself into a   
sitting position, and yawn loudly, stretching. A deep chuckle and a   
hissing laugh were his responses, and he cracked open one ice-pale eye   
to glare evilly out at whomever was making fun of him.  
  
He jumped to his feet, automatically falling into a fighting stance   
when he caught sight of Harry and... was that _Draco_?   
  
The boy was as pale as moonbeams, his grey eyes standing out shockingly   
against his skin and the flowing white muggle vest-thing he was   
wearing. It was held shut with those clasp things-- frogs, were they?   
Muggles and their odd names for things!-- from collar to hips, where it   
fell open to his feet. At his hips, the fabric split, right down the   
sides of his legs, and from the way the breeze kicked up the parts,   
likely down the center of his back, continuing the line of his spine.  
  
Beneath that he wore black silk pants, and a pair of thick black   
dragon-hide boots. Not that he looked like he needed them, given the   
fact that aside from the ice colored hair on his head-- which was no   
longer muggle-gelled back, but rising up off his scalp like some great   
dragon's crown, excluding a small wisp that felt dancing in front of   
those grey, grey eyes would be fun-- their wasn't a scrap of hair left   
on his body. Instead, the sleeve-less tunic Draco wore bared his pale   
arms to the world, and Sirius could see the sparkle of white and   
diamond scales decorating them.   
  
And by the gods above and below... was that a _tail_ lashing about his   
legs?!  
  
So startled was he, that he didn't pull out of his investigation of the   
other boy, up until he felt his godson roughly yank on his ear, "Ow!   
Harry!"  
  
"Don't be so shocked over the Dragon's change of appearance," the   
Weapon grinned ruthlessly, "when you should be shocked over what _you_   
look like."  
  
There was another hissing laugh from Draco's position, and the boy went   
back to playing with the Power. Sirius was a bit surprised that he   
could _feel_ the fact that Draco was manipulating the energy, and quite   
a bit more at the fact that he could understand what the rippling   
weaves in the power meant. How curious-- he wondered if he could see   
normal, wizarding, magicks like this. Maybe not... Harry didn't seem to   
be able to break though any just spell cast on him. The wards were a   
bit obvious on that part.  
  
It probably only worked on other Weapons, he decided with a sharp nod   
to himself, and then yelped when he felt his ears... flopping around.  
  
Shaking hands lifted to his head, and his eyes widened as they   
connected with a pair of huge, fluffy ears, "What the bloody..."  
  
"You look rather like a Fennec," his godson gave him a smile that was   
all teeth, "but not exactly. Maybe it's just how large your ears are."  
  
Glaring at the boy for making light of his plight, he automatically   
tugged the power into the weave he wanted it to go. There was a   
shimmer, and he held a mirror. He didn't even noticed the surprised   
looks of his godson or his male sparring partner. Draco hadn't managed   
even summoning his clothing for a good forty minutes! How in the world   
had Sirius managed in the moments following his awakening?  
  
Weapon and he shared a look, and the former titled his head in thought.   
Perhaps this was Sirius' way of accepting the Power? Each and every   
Weapon had a different way. He didn't know what Draco's was yet-- he   
felt it would be best to ask once everyone had recovered from their   
first Channeling-- but he knew what his was. And he knew what the way   
every other Living Weapon accepted was, as well. It helped to be   
informed; he wondered for a brief moment why he hadn't realised that   
when Hermione was trying to jamb the concept into his head.  
  
Sirius was busily inspecting himself in the mirror he held, ignoring   
the world around him. His eyes were paler than he remembered-- soft,   
baby blue to an ice-pale shade that bordered on white. His ratty,   
greasy, unkempt hair was soft and straight, not a split end or knot in   
sight. It was also swept back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck,   
showing off the rather proud looking dark chocolate ears that stuck out   
of his head. Large, conical ears, the bases running from a an inch or   
so away from the center of his scalp, down to where his ears had ended   
along his jaw when he was fully human.   
  
Upon testing a theory, he found that yes, he could indeed swivel them   
around independently of one another, and it was really quite neat.   
  
For some reason, he wanted to get them pierced now, and resolved to do   
just that once he left for Russia. It would be an interesting look.  
  
Noting that there were no other changes to his face, he banished the   
mirror and took further inventory of his body. Clothing was gone,   
having been burnt away, most likely during the summoning. Harry _had_   
mentioned something about melting their weapons, and now he was quite   
glad that he hadn't kept some of his darts on him like he'd originally   
planned.  
  
His feet were changed, as from hip, a soft chocolate fur had developed,   
and swept across his legs. There was no obvious change to the legs   
other than that-- above the knee. Below, his bones and muscles had been   
rearranged to remind him of his animagus form. They were larger, and   
more stronger than in his other form, thankfully, so that he could walk   
properly, but it was still odd to see them.   
  
Odd, he mused, but not unnatural. How utterly confusing.  
  
He was as muscular as he could remember back when he'd been taking   
classes with James, Lily and Remus. The corded, iron muscles that he'd   
so carefully crafted back during his teenaged days had dwindled and   
left him during his twelve years in wizarding prison, and for the past   
three he'd been on the run from the Ministry, never having the time to   
regain that lost power. He'd thought himself to old for it, any ways.   
  
But now... his muscles were back. They weren't the same as they were   
back then, a bit smaller, a bit less corded, a bit less iron, but that   
didn't matter. He could easily work back to it. He was almost weeping,   
grateful to have that part of him back. It would be easier to escape   
the Ministry now, when he was good and strong.   
  
Shaking himself free of his thoughts, Sirius did a final check of his   
body to search for any more changes. His arms appeared the same as   
before, and there was nothing on his back. He didn't have a tail-- he'd   
checked. So he was apparently a half human half... fennec? Is that what   
Harry had called it?  
  
"Hey, Harry?"  
  
"Yeah?" the green eyed boy snapped out of his own musings.  
  
"What's a 'Fennec'?"  
  
His lips quirked, "Muggle animal. A small desert fox, with large ears   
to help with cooling down in the heat. I believe they're nocturnal."  
  
"Oh." well, that would explain why he didn't know what it was. He just   
knew the basic muggle animals, being more preoccupied with the   
wizarding animals that could kill him while disguised as the Grim.   
Stretching out, he crawled to his feet, his ears twitching to one side,   
"What in the... what's that?"  
  
Draco had returned to playing with his new power, but Sirius could see   
the tension in the boy-- his tail had stopped lashing, and only the   
very tip of it twitched occasionally, in the same direction Sirius   
could hear movement in. He managed to grind out, "Human. He's been in   
and out of the castle four times already."  
  
Harry nodded absently, "Pry just looking for someone."  
  
"Did you ever think he could be looking for _you_?" Sirius wondered of   
his godson. Harry paused, blinked, and grinned.  
  
"Nope. Never occurred to me."  
  
"Harry, Harry, Harry, how in the world are you going to survive with me   
in Russia?"  
  
"Hmmm... Poorly?"  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Great, now I'm awake again. How in the world am I ever going to get   
some sleep?? 


	18. Feathers

I got myself an early christmas present. Well, it was more like my mom   
felt guilty over buying my brother three PS2 games within two weeks, and   
then turning around and telling me I wasn't allowed to get a new game   
until I finished Legend of Dragoon and Final Fantasy VIII. So, as she   
was feeling guilty, and I was talking about going and buying the game I   
wanted with my own money, she went up to her secret stashing place, and   
brought out the game I wanted. Yay for me! Now she has to find me   
something else to buy for Christmas ^____^  
  
Phoenix Flight - No, no, no, Sirius is going to Russia with Remus, as   
a mission for Dumbledore. It was mentioned a couple chapters back.  
  
Slytherin Angel - *grins* I know lots of people like that. I'm one of them.   
  
Harry Potter is far to intelligent to allow himself to become property   
of The Itch.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Eighteen: Feathers  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
"Why isn't Ginny up yet?"   
  
Harry turned to face his godfather, and Draco accidentally dropped a   
ball of pure plasma from where he'd been concentrating on sending it   
flying this way and that-- Potter had created the ball and told Draco   
that if he could have it still moving while there were distractions,   
he'd be good enough to go onto the next level-- startled by the fact   
that it was the first time anyone had spoken in the last ten minutes.  
  
Sirius had been getting antsy-- the big ears that had been granted to   
him as part of his transformation during his first experience   
channeling were telling him that whoever had been running around   
Hogwarts had finally entered the Forbidden Forest, and was managing to   
head in a nearly straight line in their direction. He really didn't   
want to be seen, even if he was half Fennec, and not likely to be   
connected to Sirius Black.   
  
Three years of being on the run will do that to a person.   
  
"I've no idea," shrugged the green eyed lad, "She should have been up   
at least a half hour ago. She reached the power before you did,   
Padfoot."  
  
"Think something went wrong?" mused the Malfoy, who wouldn't be all   
that concerned if she had. One less Weasley, after all...  
  
"Probably," hummed the boy, "And you dropped the plasma, Draco. Fifty   
push-ups!" The gleefully malicious smile on his face made the   
dragon-skinned boy groan, dropping down into push-up position and   
awaiting the rest of the punishment before he started.  
  
Sure enough, Harry sat down on his student's back, and counted off each   
and every last push-up.  
  
Sirius was faintly annoyed, weren't they worried for Ginny's safety?   
Even the slightest bit?  
  
Another five minutes passed before the redhead finally began to stir, a   
good forty five minutes after the time Harry had expected her to be up.   
Glassy, solid white eyes stared out of their sockets, peering around   
curiously.   
  
He'd never seen a Weapon with white eyes-- not even pupils!-- before.   
How curious... She made a motion with one hand, and snickered a bit.   
Sirius jumped, watching as the weave twisted in on itself, and Virginia   
laughed louder.  
  
"What's up with the Hyena?" Draco bit out, staring at the girl   
curiously. Were those ruby-red feathers sticking up off her scalp? Like   
her hair, they were short feathers; although the feathers were soft and   
fluffy looking, her hair still looked as sharp and as pointy as ever.  
  
Seeing as she, too, had lost those wonderful things known as cloths   
during her first channeling, it was easy to see the changes. What   
really hit Draco was the fact that he was looking at a naked female,   
and not feeling anything. Not lust, not amusement, not embarrassment...   
nothing. No wonder Harry was never interested in any one. Weapons   
didn't appear to have a need to procreate.  
  
Perhaps that was part of the reason they were changed into non-human   
forms. They didn't have another person _anywhere_ who would match them,   
and therefore, there was no reason to procreate and breed their   
non-humanness out. Ouuu, new word, the power whispered gleefully in   
Malfoy's ear.  
  
Bugger Off, he snapped back at it, I'm trying to figure Weasley out!  
  
Red and silver feathers cupped her breasts like a muggle bikini top,   
curving around her hips and nether regions in much the same way as a   
bikini bottom would. Feathers ran in a straight line down from the   
center of her shoulder, through the center of her elbow and ruffled at   
her wrists. A huge fan of red and silver feathers swished out from   
behind her in a tail. Her face was a bit more angular, as well, with   
sharp lines instead of the pudgy ones that had been there from clinging   
baby-fat.   
  
She almost looked like one of those Los Vegas Show Girls.  
  
Almost, as her feet had become a set of wickedly powerful talons. Draco   
was suddenly glad for his transformation. At least his body stayed   
mostly the same. So his skin was a bit harder, considering most of it   
was gleaming white scales, and his hands had extended into powerful   
claws, and he had a tail, but at least he could still wear shoes.   
  
Shoes, as his mother had drilled into him, were a very important part   
of being an aristocrat. Even if one's robes always feel over the feet   
and it was impossible to tell what one was wearing underneath. Narcissa   
was strange like that.  
  
"Who knows?" Potter muttered, noting that Virginia showed no reaction   
to their words. A sinister smile spread across his face, and he wrapped   
his fist in one of her tail feathers-- and yanked. Hard. She screeched   
in pain, rising to her feet, talons sinking oddly into the ground.   
Draco was now howling with laughter, a slight hiss added to it as the   
air passed through his fangs, while Sirius looked pained, clamping his   
ears to the sides of his head.  
  
"HARRY!!"  
  
---  
  
Ron's head jerked up as he heard the oh-so-familiar tones of his sister   
being pissed off. His heart leapt into his throat, and he barreled   
through the underbrush of the Forbidden Forest, forgetting all about   
the fact that dangerous animals lived in the forest.   
  
What mattered was that he'd heard his sister, and she sounded pissed.  
  
She'd also screamed his best friend's name, so he knew they had to be   
together. With a red eyebrow twitching, he crunched plant after plant   
in his wild rush to find the both of them.   
  
Why did he have to worry about them??  
  
---  
  
Steaming, Ginny returned her attention to reality, and away from the   
dancing spirits she'd been laughing at before. They had been putting on   
a little show for her, and she'd been enjoying it, up until her   
not-so-favorite teacher yanked her tail feathers and drew her away from   
it.   
  
Hmmm... tail feathers? She took a moment to inventory her changes,   
completely ignoring the fact that she was naked before turning her   
attention back to the man she planned on murdering twice over.   
  
But he wasn't paying any attention to her. Instead, he was rummaging   
through the bags he generally left out in his little experimental zone,   
before popping up with whatever he'd been searching for.   
  
Three leather bands.  
  
Three leather bands, inscribed with familiar runes, they noted as he   
laid the straps into their palms. He was smirking, "I did a little   
research. The one who puts those on, can take them off. I suggest   
channeling some of the Power through them, then putting them on   
yourselves. It'll make passing for humans at Hogwarts easier."  
  
Draco looked a bit surprised, but did as commanded, leaning over and   
yanking a boot off in order to wrap the strap around his ankle. No   
better place-- it couldn't accidentally come off when tied on down   
there, now could it?   
  
Sirius wrapped his loosely around his throat, in an imitation of his   
godson. It wouldn't get lost if he wore it like a dog collar in his   
animagus form.   
  
Virginia was skeptical of hers, but eventually tied it around her   
wrist. A charge of power running through them, and the wards activated.   
It was a creepy feeling to feel ones self returning to a purely human   
aspect. They could sense no change in their access to the reserves of   
Power within them, and each resolved to ask Harry why he was   
desperately wanted his removed if they didn't restrict power access.  
  
Potter could read the question in their eyes, but felt it would be   
better to notify Weasley that she needed to put some clothing on. With   
a blink, she nodded, and was faintly irritated by her lack of ability   
in summoning her clothing. Harry frowned, his senses telling him that   
their visitor was coming upon them to quickly for them to bother with   
waiting for Ginny to figure it out herself.  
  
"Sirius, give her some clothing."  
  
He nodded, twisting the weave and clothing her in a simple t-shirt and   
a pair of draw-string pants. Virginia's hands flashed as she tied a   
knot into the drawstring. She was already strapping her weapons back   
into place, as Sirius and Draco had both already retrieved all of their   
weapons.  
  
Harry adopted his normal, "no, we're not doing _anything_ wrong,   
Professor" stance, leaning against a tree, while Draco shifted off into   
the shadows, not wanting to be seen with Potter, Black and Weasley.   
Black on the other hand went to Snuffles, and settled down to look like   
he'd been napping.  
  
All of them ignored the fact that they were in the Forbidden Forest,   
and that people didn't normally go into lethal situations with the   
intent of "sleeping under the stars". That had been Harry's plan to use   
as an excuse.  
  
That plan was shot to hell when he realised who it was that had come   
tearing into his warded clearing.  
  
Ron Weasley, his once best friend.  
  
Oh, _this_ would be fun to explain.  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
Now, to terroize my family by playing games until morning, ahahahahahahah!! 


	19. Ruminations

Lady Knight of Kennan - Ronnikin's reaction away! *salutes* Glad that my   
review of In Hiding was helpful. ^____^  
  
Slytherin Punk Chick - Eyebrow rings... I've managed to convince my   
over-bearing mother into allowing me to pierce my eyebrow for graduation.   
Mind you, two years ago I convinced her to let me get a tattoo for   
graduation, as well. So, eyebrow ring and tattoo, only about six months   
away. How the hell am I going to wait that long? Well, at least I have my   
eight earrings to play with.   
  
Schulyr - Scaring roommates is the best compliment I've gotten in a long   
while. Demented fics should have demented laughter with which to terrify   
the uninitiated.   
  
I had this awesome idea for what Weapon's transformation was; I just don't   
want to say it until I actually get the wards off, just so that everyone   
can be surprised. I just love the idea. ^___^  
  
Le Potter et ez fronds belong-ez not tou mademoiselle Itch.  
Wolfos and Riddle's stuffed snake Rilos are the Itch's inventions.   
No stealing!  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Nineteen: Ruminations  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
Ninety-five percent of the time, humans are not suicidal.  
  
Nope, just very, very stupid, Tom Riddle thought with a gleeful cackle,   
using his "experimental sciences" to "heal" a seventeen year old   
suffering from breast cancer. She was dead in an instant and his   
"assistants" joined him in a healthy, megalomaniac laugh. Ah, he loved   
being paid to murder muggles.  
  
There was nothing better, in his mind.  
  
Except...  
  
Except killing anyone with an ounce of Heir-blood-- excluding himself,   
of course. Besides, he'd already been dead, so it didn't really matter.   
In any case, there was only one Heir left alive-- Harry James Potter.   
Annoying prat, why couldn't he just _die_ already?!  
  
Of course, no one really knew what Harry was the Heir of, he reflected   
with some amusement. Oh yes, there were those rumors about the Potters   
being descendants of Godric Gryffindor, but those were just rumors, in   
order to protect the real Heirs of Gryffindor-- of whom Tom had wiped   
out of existence a good twenty years earlier. He'd wiped out all those   
with Slytherin's blood, excluding himself, wiped out all of the   
Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff bloodlines. Merlin's bloodline only existed   
through to Dumbledore, but he'd killed off Albus' wife, children,   
grandchildren, siblings, nephews and nieces and cousins already. The   
old man was the last of his line.   
  
He had Morgana Le Fey's bloodline working for him, seeing as Severus   
Snape was her last living descendent, and his family was killed by his   
hand. Ouuu, those days had been so much fun, before Snape decided to go   
traitor. It was still fun now a days, tormenting Severus by forcing him   
to kill when he didn't want to, and feeding him false information for   
Dumbledore to lose trust in him with.   
  
Ah, messing with peoples' minds was just so much _fun_!  
  
He made a note to himself to track down his old friend and ask if he'd   
done anything interesting lately. Daemen had always been able to come   
up with such _intriguing_ torture methods. Heh, he'd even call them   
training and force younger wizards through them. If you weren't strong   
enough, you failed, and therefore, you were dead.   
  
Hmmm, maybe he should run his death eaters through a few of those   
tortures.  
  
With that happy thought on his mind, he moved onto his next patient.   
Victim, really. He had to hold back tears of joy as her mercilessly   
killed yet another stupid muggle.  
  
---  
  
Things had gone from sugar to shit, Harry reflected bitterly.   
  
Stupid Ron, why did _he_ have to be the one to track them down? The   
youngest of the male Weasleys had burst into the clearing, skidding to   
a halt and looking around frantically. At the sight of his sister in   
what could only be considered under robe clothing, and his "best   
friend" wearing little more than a pair of black jeans and an open   
black vest without an undershirt...  
  
Well, lets just say he jumped to the wrong conclusion. Completely   
ignoring Sirius' presence-- he'd shifted back to human-form when he   
realised it was Ron-- the male Weasley stalked over to Potter and   
shoved his face into Harry's. He was distracted for a moment by Harry's   
piercings, as most wizards preferred not to have anything-- even their   
ears!-- pierced, as unless specially treated, the metal of them could   
interfere with various higher-end spells. The blue bead decorating his   
eyebrow piercing finally stopped being so hypnotizing, and he snarled,   
"What the _bloody_ _hell_ do you think you're _doing_?!"  
  
Potter blinked a couple times, "I've no idea what you're talking about,   
Ron."  
  
He waved haphazardly in the general direction he figured his sister to   
be in, incidently pointing at Draco, and snapped, "Stop playing games!   
You've been molesting my sister, haven't you?!"  
  
"No, not really," Harry's eyes lit up and he grinned, "And I don't   
think your sister is tall, blonde, sixteen, and male, Ron."  
  
"Huh?" the redhead turned to look in the direction he'd been pointing,   
but couldn't see anything. Confused, he turned back to where Harry had   
been. Had being the key word, as the green eyed lad had shot off into   
the brush, following the examples of Ginny, Sirius, and Draco. The   
fuming Weasley grit his teeth, making his hands into fists so tight his   
knuckles were white, and his nails cut little half-moons into his   
hands.  
  
He could hear, quite clearly, his sister's laughter, accompanied by   
another, completely unwelcome, familiar cackle-- Draco Malfoy's.   
Harry's voice was suspiciously silent, but Ron didn't care. Still   
allowing his temper to control him, he barreled off back into the busy,   
beating feet back towards Hogwarts. He was going to _kill_ them!  
  
And that brings us back to Harry's thoughts about sugar to shit.   
  
He was pretty sure that by morning Draco and Ginny would have fluffed   
the incident up so much that there would be no way to calm Ron down.   
They were probably going to be doing it just to get back at him for not   
warning them about the physical transformations they went through.   
Hmph, their transformations weren't even all that serious.  
  
Not at all like Weapon's. But that was something to leave for another   
time; after he freed his alterego from the bonds of Merlin's Runes.   
Dumbass old git. Couldn't have made an easier to read transcript of his   
runes, could he?  
  
He probably did, Weapon murmured, it's just not at Hogwarts.  
  
Hush up, I need to figure a way out of this mess, Harry grunted back.   
Halloween was three days away. It would be the perfect time to enact   
his revenge for what he knew was going to happen... just... what could   
he do? He was, for once, drawing a blank for ideas. Not only for the   
return-prank, but for calming Ron down. He really didn't want his   
former best bud pissed off at him. It would make for some tense   
conversations with Hermione.  
  
And 'Mione was, to him, his personal scribe. Friend, too, but scribe   
came first. He promised himself that he'd give her a wonderful position   
in his New World Order of Balance, once he'd offed Tom and Albus. Hmmm,   
maybe he could get Ron back in his good graces by offering him-- and   
Arthur, if the elder Weasley deigned not to side with Albus or Tom-- a   
good position.   
  
Of course, Harry himself wasn't going to be the ruler. He'd stick Ginny   
with that job. Sirius could be general of the army or something. He and   
Draco, on the other hand, would be vigilantes. Working not for the   
government but for The Balance. Secretly friends with the political   
heads, with contacts throughout the underworld.  
  
Hermione would be the High Advisor, if she so wanted to be. Or maybe   
she could be a vigilante. Ron, too.   
  
He burst from the Forbidden Forest, still thinking on these things. He   
could see Draco and Virginia ahead of him, running backwards to watch   
him. He ran through a serious of hand signals, and they nodded. Time to   
head back to the dorms.   
  
Sirius would be off to Russia in a couple hours. So Harry paused long   
enough to squeeze the life out of his godfather, wish him well, and   
tell him to practice while gone.   
  
Ron came out of the Forest only minutes after Sirius had vanished and   
Harry had gone back into the castle. Unfortunately for him, Snape was   
near the entrance. His attempt to explain that he was following Harry   
met deaf ears.   
  
After all, weren't he and Harry best friends? Harry would have been   
right there with him if he was _really_ with Harry.  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
And now we have some (more) tension between Ronnikins and Harry-Weapon. 


	20. Rumors

I've been sewing again. A nice black floor-length vest with a red   
cross-sword in the back. It's not finished (I'll be adding the collar,   
and the red sleeve "guards" Sunday afternoon), but it's damned close to   
being finished. Hell, if I'd started it sooner than three o'clock on   
Saturday, it woulda been done. It's a nice vest. I loves it.  
  
Fawkes - Jealousy is an evil thing. *waves a finger* No bringing up   
having tattoos while the Itch lacks hers!  
  
Katrina... that was a bad bad pun on my name. *laughs*  
  
Eva Phoenix Potter - Marriage? To me? Ouuuu, that's a new one. ^____^  
  
Potter and Crew belong to Rowling, who is definitely not the Itch.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Twenty: Rumors  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
It was the day of Halloween, and Harry still hadn't calmed Ron down,   
_or_ come up with a way to get revenge on Draco and Ginny. True to   
form, the pair had begun, discretely, spreading outlandish rumors about   
Harry kidnaping the youngest Weasley and taking her out to the   
Forbidden Forest in order to either (a) rape her or (b) hand her over   
to Ye Olde Escaped Convict Sirius Black, as a way to get out of having   
himself killed. Obviously, Draco came up with the first, and Virginia   
the second.  
  
Over the course of two and a half days other people had jumped on the   
band wagon, and now Potter was, once again, being ostracized by the   
rest of the school. Not that that was a _bad_ thing, mind you. No, it   
gave him more slack with which he could plan out torturous training   
sessions with help from DADA Professor Daemen Wolfos, and to research   
Merlin's Damned Squigglies-- as he had come to think of the runes-- in   
peace.   
  
At the moment, the only person who would go anywhere near him was   
Hermione, who really didn't care about the rumors. They were just   
rumors, after all. Besides, she'd seen Ginny's Rune "bracelet", and   
just figured that Harry and Ginny had been out there to test the powers   
of the runes based on what had already been translated.  
  
On that note, she was almost through the translation of the second half   
of the book. Unlike the first, which had only taken a few weeks, the   
second was a lot more complex, written in an even older dialect of   
Norse; in fact, it looked to be the dialect that Old Norse was based   
upon. First she had to translated the glyphs into Old Norse, since they   
were similar, although not quite the same, then into English. It would   
be impossible to change them over right away-- nothing would make   
sense.   
  
She had about eight copies of the text, translated into Old Norse, then   
into English, all with slight variations on the wordings. Hermione   
figured that the one that made the most sense would be the one that was   
most correct.   
  
That is to say, she _hoped_ that would be the correct one. She had her   
fingers crossed on it.  
  
In any case, Harry's research on the Runes had hit a dead-end without   
the translated text, so now he was wandering all by his lonesome   
through the halls of Hogwarts on that bright, sunny Halloween Saturday.   
He was, to put it mildly, exceedingly bored.  
  
His robes hung open, draping his form like a cotton duster, and flaring   
out behind him as he moved. His normal black jeans were accompanied by   
the same black vest, although he had an almost neon green turtleneck   
underneath it. For someone who habitually wore dark shades and tones,   
the vibrancy of the green was a little mind bending. Not to mention the   
fact that he was wearing a _green_ shirt when he was a _Gryffindor._  
  
Not like Harry cared. He cared about surprisingly little, actually.  
  
Surprising, because there was actually something he cared about.   
  
And one of those somethings-- specifically someone-- had just swept   
around the corner. He came to a halt, blinking owlishly at Harry,   
"'Ello Potter."  
  
"I _do_ have a name, you know," Harry returned dryly, looping an arm   
over Draco's shoulders, "There are some things I want to talk to you   
about," he grinned wickedly, and the Slytherin rolled his eyes. Not to   
long after they'd left, Neville Longbottom stumbled out of a shadow,   
eyes wide.   
  
"Oh. My. Good. Sweet. Merlin!"  
  
---  
  
"You want me to _what_?"  
  
Harry shot him his best pleading look, which wasn't all that great,   
because Harry had never used one before. He hadn't had a reason with   
his Aunt and Uncle-- like they'd give him anything-- and everyone in   
the Wizarding World (except Draco, Ginny, Tom, and various Death   
eaters) would give him whatever he asked for. Wolfos would just tell   
him to get it himself, and he didn't give a damn how he got it.  
  
Coincidently, that's how Harry Potter managed to become wanted for   
theft in the muggle world.  
  
"C'mon, Dragon-boy, it's not like I'm asking you to commit suicide!"  
  
He snorted, rubbing the ankle that had his ward wrapped around it   
against the back of his shin, "And how exactly is showing up in my   
natural form at the party tonight supposed to help?"  
  
"We'll scare the shit out of Ron, and he'll forget he's mad at me!"   
Harry nodded rapidly with a vague grin, "Yeah, and then I won't have to   
worry about him trying to kill me at every instant!"  
  
"Right. And what did you plan to do about the rumors."  
  
He grinned maliciously, "Get the ones who started them to clean up   
their messes."  
  
The boy became as pale as his hair, "Now, now, Harry, I don't think   
that would be very good. What would the Junior Muggle-Killer-Squad   
think, Draco Lucius Malfoy correcting rumors about Harry Potter,   
Hogwarts' Golden Boy?"  
  
"Then you'll play along with my prank, won't you, Draco?" he smirked,   
"You do that, and I'll let you off the hook about cleaning up the   
rumors. That can be Ginny's task."  
  
"You're pretty hard on the Femme-Weasel; you ever notice that?"  
  
He hiked a dark eyebrow, "And you care because why? I know you can't   
feel sexual emotions towards her, so what's the deal?"  
  
"Thought you'd be overly concerned since she's the only female Weapon   
we've got..." he trailed off at the demented look in his instructor's   
face, "Uh... did I say something wrong?"  
  
"Female Weapons need to be trained harder," he nodded, eyes slightly   
glazed, "Must make up for the fact that they've got a couple of   
weaknesses us guys don't' have. Yes, yes indeedie."  
  
Malfoy began backing away, and was almost at the door when green eyes   
focused on him, "Where are you going, Draco?"  
  
"To er... to lunch! I'm getting kinda hungry, aren't you?"  
  
He blinked, then smiled vapidly, "Food!"  
  
---  
  
When Draco entered the Great Hall, he was met by silence. He by-passed   
the silence, plopping himself down at the Slytherin House Table, and   
began to eat. Noise level slowly began to rise, up until Harry glided   
in, psychotic smile firmly in place as he lolled his eyes about and   
searched through the crowd.   
  
Shivers went down the backs of those that dared to meet those out of   
focused, glazed irises. Whispers began to fly fast and furious, but he   
ignored it all, settling down into his normal seat at Gryffindor   
Table-- the one at the end with the most shadows. He'd been sitting   
there since the Sorting Feast, when he'd been chained to the table in   
that very spot. Humming a cheerful tune, he ignored reality, until a   
muggle-born fourth year suddenly sat in front of him.  
  
"Is it true that you're gay?"  
  
Dead silence filled the Great Hall, and Harry slowly lifted his head,   
gleefully crafting a look of pure malicious evil. He'd picked up a love   
for terrorizing people from Wolfos during his training, "Gay...?"  
  
"As in," the girl stuttered, flushing red and scrambling to her feet in   
order to be able to take flight if things started to look nasty, "...   
as in liking boys over girls."  
  
"No, I'm not 'gay'," he quoted, slightly annoyed. Where in the world   
had _this_ idea come from. He shattered the relieved silence of the   
Great Hall by following his previous statement with this one, "But I   
don't like girls, either."  
  
"Uh..."  
  
He tilted his head back, the psychotic grin back in full force as his   
eyes glowed with restrained power, "I've no preference, but I like   
neither. And I don't like animals, for you sick fucks out listening in.   
I just don't have a sex drive."  
  
She licked her lips, "I'm going to uh... to go over there and--"  
  
"Who told you I was gay?" he wondered, catching her arm and refusing to   
let her go, "Tell me."  
  
"Sea... Seamus Finnigan," she was all but cowering away from him, as   
his glowing eyes focused on the boy in his year, "Bu-bu-but he-he heard   
it from-from Neville Longbottom."  
  
"Longbottom?" he asked incredulously.  
  
And in a clear voice that everyone in the hall heard, she responded,   
"He said... he said he saw you with your arms around Draco Malfoy."  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Nice Place to end it, no? 


	21. Reactions

I fell asleep while typing this, s'why it's going up later than normal.  
  
SilverYoukai - I like H/D, too, it's just not gunna happen in this fic.   
*pauses* I think it's because I couldn't actually decide on couples.   
Well, that and romance is not a thing easily written. That's probably   
why Mein Kaiser is so fucked over. And why it hasn't been posted on   
FF.net yet. :P  
  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Twenty-One: Reactions  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
For approximately twenty seconds, there was silence.  
  
Then Draco stood, slamming both palms against the surface of the   
Slytherin House table, hard enough to make the plates all along it   
jump. His eyes were all but glowing with pure, silver, elderich power,   
meticulously gelled hair snapping free of it's "restraints" and lashing   
wildly about his head. His robes snapped dangerously around him, to   
such a point that it actually lashed Pansy Parkinson's face with such   
force that it left a bleeding cut.  
  
"Longbottom _dies_."  
  
Collectively, the residents of Hogwarts began to edge away from the   
glowing boy, although Harry ignored the spectacle, "Sit _down_, Draco."  
  
Those burning silver eyes turned to meet icy cold steel irises. Malfoy   
deflated a bit, cowed by the stern look in his instructor's face,   
before noting the tiny, malicious smirk that graced said teenager's   
mouth. Harry was planning something, he just knew it.  
  
Without any fanfare, Potter stood, his own cloak swirling majestically   
around him as he drifted away from his seat towards the exit. He'd   
eaten enough-- if he wanted more, he could always ask Dobby. Although   
he paused when standing directly behind Neville. He carefully blanked   
his face of all emotion.  
  
And then, he hissed in parseltongue, "Draco is the least of your   
worries."   
  
---  
  
The rest of the fifth year girls didn't understand why Virginia   
couldn't stop laughing. Well, she'd stop, someone would ask her to   
share the joke, and she'd just start up again. Oh this was rich! Harry   
got himself into this mess, she'd love to see him get out of it.  
  
Although, that didn't seem to be likely, her thoughts turned sour as   
the Spirits gave her notice that, once again, Ron was lurking nearby.   
Ever since that incident in the Forbidden Forest a few nights earlier,   
Ron had not left his sister alone. It was seriously getting on her   
nerves, to know that he was hiding, and watching her, even when she   
went to take a piss.   
  
Quite frankly, she was surprised she hadn't strangled him yet. Or, even   
better, laid into him with her M60. Although... she'd end up having to   
heal him of his wounds so as not to get in trouble, and then she'd have   
to explain her extracurricular lessons with Harry. Then she'd have to   
deal with Ron whining about not being asked, and then her brother going   
to inform Dumbledore.   
  
Which would be a bad thing. Albus wasn't allowed to know exactly who   
was a Weapon and who was just getting magic tips from Harry until   
crunch time. Weapon had stressed that in one of her very first lessons   
in the How To Be A Wizard-Weapon course Harry had "designed". Hah!   
Professor Wolfos designed it, more likely, she scoffed internally.   
After a few more minutes of calming her breathing, she stood without so   
much as a word to her dorm mates, and strode over to the door that lead   
out into the hall.  
  
Allowing her most annoyed look to cross her face, she swung open the   
door. Ron tumbled in from where he'd been pressed against the door   
listening to their conversation.  
  
"Brother-dearest..." she growled, "...What praytell, do you think   
you're doing?"  
  
The youngest of the male Weasley's swallowed nervously, staring up into   
his sister's icy eyes. With her hair still only a couple centimeters   
long, and sticking straight up, she managed a truly evil look. This   
would not be fun...  
  
Harry, he groused mentally, this is all _your_ fault!  
  
---  
  
And finally, Halloween Night fell. Traditionally speaking, Fifth Years   
and Up had a separate party, so as not to get the younger kids drunk or   
high on shions by accident. Or perhaps, not by accident, but just as a   
joke. Either way, Dumbledore had long since declared that there would   
be two celebrations, just to prevent that from ever happening.  
  
That didn't prevent the older students from doing all that stuff by   
themselves, but it at least kept them from harming the younger students   
during their "immortal days".   
  
Harry and Draco were specifically planning to scare the so-called   
teenager immortality out of everyone. Not to mention give a whole new   
meaning to the wizarding version of All Hallows Eve.   
  
Potter was already within the room hosting the party-- the Great Hall   
being used for the younger years-- leaning against the wall and   
perfecting his imitation of Weapon. The only thing that set him apart   
from his "other half" was the fact that Harry had green eyes. Appearing   
to be stoically watching the party-goers, he was instead using the   
small amount of the mostly sealed power of the Weapons he could access   
to watch Malfoy's progress from the doors, where he'd entered with a   
group of Slytherin Seventh Years. He was under his mother's   
invisibility cloak, and what Harry saw was not really seeing at all. He   
was feeling the emanations of power leaking from him.  
  
Draco had yet to fully understand how to control his own abilities.   
  
Finally, he'd come to a halt directly in the center of the room, a   
gleeful smile crossing his lips as he realized Neville happened to be   
standing not three feet away from him. Ouuu, this would be _fun_.  
  
"Now," Harry hissed to himself, eyes locked on the form hidden behind   
the cloak in the middle of the room. The other sixteen year old could   
not possibly have heard him, but turned slightly to stare directly at   
him. Harry nodded, and Draco snickered quietly.  
  
Even that quiet snicker caught Neville's attention, and the   
easily-terrified Gryffindor started searching about him. Draco's lips   
quirked, and he curled his fingers into the fabric of the cloak. He'd   
removed his warding band from around his ankle prior to arriving, so   
what they would be seeing was the all new, natural Draco.  
  
He _still_ didn't want to be doing this, but preventing himself from   
having to clear Potter's name was one of the highest priorities in his   
mind. He was, after all, a Malfoy.  
  
With a sickening grin, he swept the cloak off, tucking it into a pocket   
within his silvery white Chinese silk robes. They went with his new,   
silvery white scales, which was the reason he'd chosen them. Neville   
started to stutter.  
  
"Boo," hissed the draconian Draco, the spines that had once been his   
hair flaring up around his head. It was an effect decided upon by The   
Voice, that for once, Draco agreed with.  
  
Neville screamed, and was very quickly joined by a number of other   
people as they saw the glowing silver irises, diamond scaled hide,   
clawed fingers and fangs to make a vampire jealous. Draco was having a   
lovely time, basking in their screams.   
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
It sucks. I was actually fully awake when I wrote half this chapter, so   
if it doesn't match the way the rest of the chapters are written, blame   
it on that. 


	22. Fighting

Gods above, I hate writing on this damned laptop.  
  
Those of you wondering, the explanation can be found at my groupie   
thing Leigh set up. She said something about have a group she never   
used anymore, set it up so I could use it as a mailing list, and   
somehow managed to lock herself out of it ^______^  
  
The group is located at http://groups.yahoo.com/groups/kagenoshi/  
  
Oh, for those of you who don't know Japanese, kagenoshi separates to   
kage no shi -- or Death of Shadows. Leigh was going for Shadow of   
death, but she hadn't exactly figured out how the Japanese language   
worked by that point (shadow of death would have been shinokage).  
  
Wow! Two Hundred Reviews. I am _so_ rubbing this in Leigh's face!  
(The most she's gotten on one of her fics was 86 reviews)  
  
Potter and Crew are property of JK Rowling, and it's highly unlikely  
that the Itch will ever be her.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Twenty-Two: Fighting  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
Oh the screams...  
  
Such beautiful screams...  
  
Tom Riddle blinked a few times, turning to face the writhing tongues of   
flame that filled the fireplace that had been empty until a few mere   
minutes ago.  
  
"What screams?"  
  
It was kind of annoying, actually. For the last little while, he had   
been hearing about sadistic training and screams, but... wasn't _he_   
the one who usually did that? And he hadn't done any torturing outside   
of his little business. He was laying low.  
  
The flames formed strange shapes, although a shadowy pair of eyes   
opening in the heart of the flame was most unusual.   
  
Young ones...  
  
"Children screaming?" he perked up cheerfully, "Muggles?"  
  
Wizards...  
  
"Oh... not as much fun," he frowned, "Who's doing the torturing?"  
  
He got the distinct impression that the fire was laughing at him as it   
refused to tell him. Stupid fire.   
  
---  
  
Draco felt a gleeful rush as he began to do his practiced 'I am a   
maniacal bastard' laugh. More screams joined the cataphoney in the   
room, although several seventh years had drawn their wands, aiming them   
at the frightening visage of the draconic youth. It didn't matter. The   
Power was strong.  
  
"Stupefy!" shouted one Gryffindor seventh year, to which Draco laughed   
louder. The Voice whispered to him, told him how to build a shield and   
block the spell in mere instants. But he didn't block it.  
  
He reflected it.  
  
The rebounded spell twirled, catching a fifth year Slytherin squarely   
in the chest. The results were predictable.  
  
Again, more screams, as the other seventh years fired off a number of   
other spells, but none were quite powerful enough to break the shield.   
It still buckled at the number-- he was still learning to manipulate   
the tsunami wave that filled him-- but it held. If he was facing one of   
the Professors, he doubted it would hold, but it was strong enough to   
battle other students.  
  
Draco was having a fine time, up until someone grabbed Harry and yanked   
him out of the shadows, and everyone else hid behind him. Malfoy wanted   
to wince, but he also didn't want to destroy his all to awesome effect   
on people.  
  
"Harry!" yelped Lavender Brown, "Save us!"  
  
The sparkling emerald eyes staring into his own clearly stated 'play   
along, or you will be in big trouble'. Again, Draco really, really,   
really didn't want to have the psychopathic green-eyed not-safe Harry   
ready to kill him. Or even maim him. He was way more viscous than the   
silver-eyed Harry, who methodically tortured one.  
  
"Think you can stop me?" Draco hissed in his best 'evil-doer' voice. He   
really hoped no one could recognize his voice, "Your little _friends_   
couldn't." The scaled youth figured the fangs causing the slight lisp   
in his voice would help to hide him.  
  
"They're not me," Harry grinned sadistically-- the other students were   
behind him and couldn't see it-- withdrawing his wand from his sleeve.   
Then Harry was stepping forwards, whipping his wand in the classical   
'spell casting' movements, although not speaking a word. His lips would   
move, like he was whispering the spell, yet there were no words.  
  
He was just putting on a show, after all.  
  
Eyes glowing with malicious glee, Harry cursed, like his spells weren't   
working, tucked his wand back into his sleeve. Then he hit Draco with   
both fists flying.  
  
"Shit!" cursed the spine-scalped youth as he hit the ground on his   
back. Feet came up to catch Potter in the gut, and sent him flying.   
Harry righted himself in mid air, dropping down to a perfect three   
point landing, then flinging himself forwards yet again.  
  
And again they clashed, arms and legs flashing as they kicked and   
pushed, snarled and spat, bit and clawed.   
  
The students were wide-eyed as they witnessed the battle, but none of   
them really noticed the gleeful looks on the faces of both boys as they   
physically duked it out in a wild clash. With their hands flying so   
quickly, the watching wizards never noticed the flickers of various   
knives and daggers as they brought weapons into the battle.  
  
Aside from one.   
  
Virginia did not look amused as the pair traded blows in the middle of   
the party. In fact, so annoyed was she at their ruining of the party--   
she was using the time to attempt to get caught up on the gossip around   
Hogwarts-- that she decided to take a little revenge.   
  
Eyes hazing over, irises fading to a paler shade than her natural, she   
shifted her view over into the realm of spirits. To her annoyance, she   
found them watching the fight. In fact, one of them appeared to be   
taking bets on who would win.   
  
Muttering faint obscenities, she called one over to her side, and asked   
the translucent emerald sprite to tell one of the ghosts to bring a   
Professor to the room. Then she'd see how "interesting" this fight was.  
  
How dare they not tell her they were going to do this! She'd wanted in   
on it!  
  
Well, _next_ time they'd invite her!  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Like I said, I really hate typing on this laptop, so this chapter's   
about half a page, maybe a page, shorter than normal. Sorry. 


	23. Seperating

Well, my computer is still overly messed, so I'm back on the laptop. At   
least we've managed to get it into safe mode...  
  
Parselmouth - He is, but the wards on his armbands won't allow him to   
change into his other form-- just like the wards he crafted for the   
other three.  
  
Emmy - *laughs* I've seen the Punk-smiles-cutely-at-the-bookworm thing  
in real life. It was actually very amusing. Especially since he was   
blushing brightly. I think it was his girlfriend or something...  
  
crystal56 - Like I told Parselmouth-- yeap, he did. I really, really,   
_really_ want to put it in, but the chapters write themselves...  
besides, I have this _really_ amusing scene in my head for when he does  
end up showing what he looks like to everyone.  
  
Early grave, Optional? *Smirks* Ah, I'm glad I do my work well...  
  
Mister Potter and his Associates do not, nor ever will, belong to the   
Itch.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Twenty-Three: Separating  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
Harry flipped through the air, irritably rubbing as his solar plexus as   
he attempted to regain his breath. He'd forgotten that Draco had a tail   
in this form-- and that it was tipped by a fairly jagged blade. His   
robes had been slashed open by the edge of the blade, having caught the   
flat of it in his Solar Plexus when Malfoy had lashed out with it when   
he attacked.  
  
Mournfully, Harry wished for his own tail. While _his_ didn't have a   
jagged blade on the end, it did have four or five bony protrusions that   
could pulverize rock. But the wards on his arms prevented him from   
reaching his alter-form, and bringing the fight to a new level.  
  
He was somewhat lost in the blood-lust of the battle, having forgotten   
the fact that he was fighting in the middle of a Halloween Ball,   
surrounded by students. A Weapon was forged to do battle, and the lust   
for the fight powered all Living Weapons. Normally, the lust could be   
controlled.  
  
Normally, the Weapons were only considered to be on "stand by", which   
generally meant that they were waiting to be used by their masters. But   
Harry was his own master, as was Draco, even if the draconic teenager   
was likely to do whatever Harry told him to. The instructor had that   
power-- as Daemen liked to demonstrate.  
  
As they both controlled their own actions, they had infinitely more   
power than the majority of the other Weapons that existed, few as they   
were. Once the battle had begun, neither wished to stop. They were wild   
beasts, savage in the most primal way.  
  
Harry lunged again, snapping his wrists to slide wafer-thin blades out   
from his sleeves, and in between his fingers not unlike claws.   
  
Draco whirled into action, the razor-sharp spikes extending from   
shoulders providing both protection and a weapon. He was a cyclone of   
knives as he withdrew the Stallion Blades from their sheaths on his   
forearms. Battle sung in their blood as they clashed yet again.  
  
So strong was the lust for battle, that neither noticed the doors   
slamming open, Professor Snape and Dumbledore flying into the room at   
the insistence of some ghost or another, that vanished as soon as she   
had arrived. In the place where she stood and watched, Virginia   
smirked. They really should have let her participate.  
  
"What the bloody hell!?" roared Snape, expecting Potter and the...   
the... whatever it was to break apart. No such luck, as the Boy Who   
Lived and his opponent continued in their brutal, violent fight. Blood   
splattered from both combatants here and there. It was a beautiful   
dance of lethal intentions.   
  
They were like two wolves, battling for dominance.  
  
"Stupefy!" Dumbledore had withdrawn his wand, aiming it at the pair   
that fought so nastily. Nothing.   
  
He almost hit himself for forgetting the protection spells added to the   
wards on Harry. It would prevent any such lower-level spells from   
effecting him. They'd thought it would help to keep him around; knowing   
that he was protected from Death eaters and the like. It hadn't worked.  
  
But there was another spell woven into the wards, written in Merlin's   
Runes. And he activated that spell with but a thought, and nod to   
Severus.   
  
The two combatants were violently flung apart, both snarling angrily   
that their battle had been interrupted. Albus had placed that spell in   
there to protect the students from Harry. It had been designed to   
specifically force the young Potter away from whatever-- or   
_whom_ever-- he was maiming, so that everyone would be safe.   
  
They were afraid, after Harry's rather... violent... reaction to   
Snape's apprehending of him, that he'd take his angers out on the   
student body. Thankfully, it hadn't seemed to have happened. At least,   
until this strange creature had arrived.  
  
There was a second part of the spell-- it kept the other member of the   
fight from moving around to much. It had been designed to allow to   
check wounds and the like. Now, it was used to see what this strange   
creature, or being, looked like.  
  
Wildly glowing silver irises, spikes instead of hair that covered the   
scalp-- the spines laying flat against his skull in an expression of   
anger-- wicked fangs, both longer and sharper than any known vampire's   
bared in a furious snarl. His hands were curled around two of the four   
Stallion Blades in his possession, but they could still see the claws   
that the five fingers of each hand tapered into. From each shoulder   
blade extended several inches of razor-bladed 'quills' for a lack of a   
better word. A thickly muscled tail tipped with a blade lashed in   
irritation.  
  
And over all, his skin was a shimmering rainbow of solid diamond   
scales.   
  
He was, surprisingly, wearing clothing. And not only clothing-- but   
_muggle_ clothing. A pair of over-sized black denim shorts that cut off   
just below the knees to bare a pair of black runners with blood red   
laces. Those looking were unsure if that was just their normal color,   
or the color of the blood he'd spilled. He wore a red muscle-shirt,   
that allowed for the blades to extend out of his shoulders.   
  
Not to mention all the weapons he carried on him.  
  
After inspecting the creature-- and deciding to hold it in the dungeons   
until such a time as they could identify it-- the professors turned to   
Potter, and were stunned.  
  
He was snarling just as violently, emerald fire flaring behind   
iridescent green eyes. Chin-length, tangled and dirty ebon hair lashed   
around his face as he jerked spasmodically in his attempt to get free   
of his bonds. Still slipped between his fingers were the six blades   
he'd used to attack Draco.   
  
The slash that crossed his robe had caused it to fall open, revealing   
the length of chain that all male Gryffindor Sixth Years knew about,   
but hardly anyone else did, and the leather collar it was bound to. Not   
to mention the ebon t-shirt that bore a number of it's own slashes and   
rips, and the pair of black jeans that encased his legs. Thankfully,   
those who weren't occupied staring at the draconic Draco couldn't see   
Potter's own collection of weapons.  
  
A very smug Ginny Weasley crept up behind Harry once the teachers   
turned back to discuss what to do with Dragon-Draco.  
  
"Next time," she hissed to the slowly calming Weapon, "You invite   
_me_!"  
  
---  
  
Draco skulked around in the "cell" he'd been given. They'd attempted to   
remove his weapons. Attempted being the key word, seeing as he still   
had access to the power, and the Voice-- he really needed to give the   
stupid thing a name-- didn't want him to lose the weapons that it had   
been focusing power through for the past number of days.  
  
He'd managed to transport the weapons into his trunk into his room.   
  
He was surprised no one had noticed his disappearance yet.  
  
He was surprised he wasn't out yet.  
  
He was going to kill Harry for suggesting this prank.  
  
_Why_ had he listened to Harry? Oh, right, he didn't want to play   
clean-up-Harry's-rep. That would be bad for _his_ reputation!  
  
"We still have no idea what it is," he heard McGongall muse from   
outside his door. A bit annoyed, he shouted back.  
  
"I'M MALE!!"  
  
There were a few moments of silence from the other side of the door,   
then hushed whispering as they figured out he'd been able to hear them.   
Rolling his eyes, he turned his contemplation inwards.  
  
So... Voice... what're they saying?  
  
They'd talking about turning you over to the Ministry, the inanely   
cheerful voice that sounded way to much like Psycho-Harry for his   
comfort, replied. Snape want's to dissect you for potions material.  
  
But... I'm an endangered species! whined Draco.  
  
One person counts as a species?   
  
Oh hush up.  
  
No, you hush up!  
  
You!  
  
Nah-nah, can't make me!  
  
Wanna bet?  
  
Feh you can try!  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Dray is losing his mind.... AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! 


	24. Jailbreak

" what the heck?! " - Er, I thought the fact that they were OOC was  
kinda obvious. They've been OOC for oh... twenty-three chapters (not  
including this one) by now.  
  
Went and saw Treasure Planet today. Leigh dragged me out of the house   
so I'd stop whining about my poor, poor computer. When I got back, my   
father had fixed it, just so that he wouldn't have to listen to me rant   
about his laptop. Go me!  
  
Any ways, two things to say about TP-- if you haven't seen it, go see   
it. It manages to stick to the book pretty well. And second... why did   
Jim have to loose the cute little braid? *sniffles* I really liked that   
braid, gave him character. And I want that solar thingy of his. The   
not-quite snowboard with a sail and a jet engine.  
  
It's tiring to repeat this but... Itch doesn't own Harry Potter.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Twenty-Four: Jailbreak  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
It was surprising how much effort went into a plan to break someone out   
of "jail".   
  
First, they had to wait until everyone had gone to sleep. Then, they   
had to creep though the halls-- not all that unusual for these two--   
and not get caught. Third, they actually had to go into the dungeons.   
Harry didn't normally go to the dungeons-- he made Draco come to him.   
  
But Draco had been imprisoned in one of the dungeon classrooms behind   
lots, and lots, and lots of wardings. Not that it would matter in the   
end.  
  
Because number four on the list of things to do was to break all those   
wards.   
  
So there they were, Harry and Ginny, slinking through the halls,   
deliberately not using the Invisibility Cloak they had with them. Why   
would they do that? Not nearly as much fun. At least, that's what the   
two Weapons had convinced themselves.   
  
They were also chatting between each other as they moved, "I should   
have the first ward off in a few days."  
  
"Really?" the redhead mused, although a bit sourly. She was still   
pissed off about not being invited to join in on the fun of the fight   
earlier that evening.  
  
"Yeah," the green eyed Harry nodded cheerfully, "The one on my left   
arm; The runes on it are just protection spells and the like. The power   
suppression ones are on the right arm," here, he scowled, "And as soon   
as _that_ one comes off...!"  
  
She could get the picture. Dumbledore, Snape and McGongall were not   
going to be in for a fun time of it, "What about the collar?"  
  
He shrugged, "The spells on it can be unwoven once I get the wards off.   
_It's_ not done with Merlin's Goddamned Squiggles," he grinned a bit   
nastily, then, "But I've gone used to it. I _like_ my collar."  
  
"You wanted it off only a few weeks ago!"  
  
"I know," he shrugged, "but it makes for a rather nifty weapon, don't   
you think?"  
  
"I... suppose..."  
  
They would have continued to discuss the merits of wearing a leather   
collar with a steel length of chain nearly five feet long attached to   
it, when another voice reached their ears. Both immediately hushed, and   
fell into 'stealth' mode. Harry's eyes bled to Weapon's calm steel, and   
Virginia's left eye hazed over so that she was seeing both the real   
world and the spirit world at the same time.   
  
It was a trick she'd learned the night before, but had yet to fully   
perfect it. She'd only be able to hold the state for ten minutes before   
needed to rest.   
  
"It _must_ be a dark creature!" McGonagall hissed through clenched   
teeth, as they pair sidled up to the corner, "Just look at it!"  
  
"Where's Wolfos? Or Hagrid?" was Madam Pomfrey's response, "Either one   
could tell us..."  
  
"Busy, and sleeping," snorted Snape's harsh, biting tone, "How did it   
get in here?"  
  
"It's probably a spy for You-Who-Know!" Sprout put in.   
  
The two teenagers looked at each other with hiked eyebrows. Were all   
the professors out there? Perhaps. They were both going to have a   
wonderful time of it teasing Draco about being an 'it'.   
  
Hooch's voice interjected, "Even if it is, _I've_ never seen anything   
like it!"  
  
"I would have thought it was a veela," Flitwick sighed, "But I _do_   
happen to know what one looks like, and that is _not_ a veela."  
  
"But what _is_ it?" wondered Dumbledore, who was outright confused.   
What in the world was this creature? Why hadn't he ever seen one   
before? How in the world did he miss it coming into the school?  
  
At his question, the other teachers feel silent. How indeed?  
  
Tired of listening to them run in circles trying to figure out what was   
going on, Weapon finally pulled out the Invisibility Cloak that had   
been his father's. Draping it about himself and his female protégée,   
the pair slipped past the teachers, managing to keep Weapon from   
reverting to Harry until they had gotten out of the corridor that the   
teachers were conversing in.  
  
Once around the corner, Weapon shifted, and Harry snickered, "What   
idiots."  
  
"They don't know about the Living Weapons," Virginia responded dryly as   
she fell out of her half-and-half state, and ended up panting for   
breath, "Now, where's 'it'?"  
  
"I! Am! Male!" barked a voice from behind one of the doors, and the two   
Weapons grinned. They'd located Draco.   
  
Drawing their wands, the two went to work either canceling or just   
reversing the spells and wards that were meant to keep Draco in.   
Virginia wondered why Draco hadn't broken himself out with the Power--   
up until the door swung open, and Dragonic-Draco tumbled out, dropping   
to his knees and hugging Potter around the waist,   
"Thankyou-Thankyou-Thankyou-Thankyou-Thankyou-Thankyou-Thankyou-  
Thankyou-Thankyou--Voice was getting bloody annoying!"  
  
Harry blinked down for a few minutes, then pouted, "I need a gunblade.   
This scene just wouldn't look right unless I was beating you off with a   
gunblade."  
  
Neither pureblood caught the reference, and Harry once again reaffirmed   
the need to introduce the pair to video games. Like all the Final   
Fantasies. And maybe Kingdom Hearts. Hmmm, they needed to play some   
Street Fighter and King of Fighters...  
  
Things to think about for another day. He'd file using his parent's   
money for buying gaming console as Christmas presents to the back of   
his mind for now.   
  
Draco had finally let go, climbing to his feet and dusting himself off,   
"Did you bring my ward?"  
  
Virginia tossed it to him, along with the Stallion Blades, "Picked   
these up on our way down."  
  
Grateful, Draco snapped the blades into place, then re-wrapped the ward   
around his ankle. A pulse of Power through it, and he found himself   
back into his fully human form. A twist of the power and he was dressed   
in robes once again-- although it took nearly five minutes for the   
clothing to fully appear.   
  
No one was as good at making clothing as Sirius was.  
  
The sound of footsteps approaching had the three scrambling, and they   
barely managed to cram all three of them into a corner, draping the   
cloak over their crouched forms to hide.   
  
"IT'S ESCAPED!" screeched Sprout, alongside Snape's rather colorful   
cursing. Ginny rolled her eyes at the fact that both Draco and Harry   
had pulled out writing utensils and some paper to scratch the curses   
down on. Boys.  
  
They ended up crouched there for several hours as the teachers prowled   
the school-- so long that all three eventually fell asleep in their   
cramped, jumbled positions, the silvery-soft fabric of the Cloak   
securely draped over all three of them. It had been a long night.  
  
---  
End Chapter  
  
And End of the Pranking/Fighting Adventure. Hopefully, now I'll get   
back to the plot. And I know what you're thinking. Plot? What Plot? But   
this is no PWP! No, not at all. Do you see any sex? No? There you go! 


	25. Discovery

We've been attempting to install Windows 98 on my PC, so that I can at   
least use some of my other programs. I can't even access my mht   
documents. Right well pisses me off.  
  
So, any ways, I'm back on my father's laptop. Maybe I can use this as   
an excuse to get Leigh to take me to another movie ^____^  
  
As for Dumbledore being able to see through the invisibility cloak...   
well, if he can, we'll just say that the Spirits Ginny can talk to   
distracted him. If not by being physically present, then by influencing   
the physical realm.  
  
I still don't own Harry Potter.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Twenty-Five: Discovery  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
"Hey, It!"  
  
There were several snickers from the Gryffindors as Harry cheerfully   
greeted Draco as they gathered for Potions, awaiting Professor Snape's   
arrival. It had been a couple weeks since what had become known as the   
Halloween Incident. No one knew what the creature had been, or why   
Harry had acted as a feral beast-- he'd given them all confused looks   
and said that he couldn't remember anything past drawing his wand on   
the "thing"-- on that All Hallow's Eve. All they knew was that the   
silvery-white draconic figure had vanished almost exactly at midnight.   
  
There were rumors about the creature having been a ghost of some   
ancient creature having died on the grounds of Hogwarts, long before   
the castle had ever been built. They were even going so far as to say   
that it had died on Halloween, in a great cataclysmic battle against   
some powerful foe. The spirit of the beast was supposedly cursed to   
return to Hogwarts on the eve of it's death every century, according to   
rumor.  
  
As for Harry's "condition" during the fight, they supposed that it was   
the beast's powerful foe, returned to do continuous battle with the   
beast, until one or the other finally moved onto the final plane of   
existence.  
  
Teenagers could make up some very odd stories.  
  
In any case, Virginia, Draco and Harry had been missing until   
mid-morning on All Saints Day, and when they had turned up, the two   
Gryffindors were calling Draco "It", which bothered him to no end. The   
rest of the Gryffindor House had picked it up, just to piss him off. It   
was a favored hobby amongst the house of red and gold: to piss Malfoy   
off, and Ron took a malicious glee from it.  
  
Ron still hadn't forgiven Harry for being out in the middle of the   
Forbidden Forest, alone with his sister, but he'd cooled off a bit, and   
managed to realize that Sirius had indeed been in the clearing. Like   
old Padfoot would by a voyeur.   
  
Thankfully, the stories of the Halloween Drake had overpowered all   
rumors of Ginny being molested by Harry, and now it seemed like no one   
even remembered the incident happening-- aside from Ron, of course.   
  
The blonde Weapon-in-Training grit his teeth, glowering evilly at   
Harry. They still hadn't come up with a nickname for him, aside from   
"Taskmaster", to which he was always smirking at. Besides, why would   
Malfoy call him Taskmaster in the middle of class? No, it was safer to   
let things lie, until he could find a suitably humiliating name for the   
long haired youth.  
  
"Settle down!" hissed the Potion Master as he seemingly melted out of   
the shadows at the front of the room to turn his icy gaze across them   
all. He was pleased to note that the Gryffindors cowered in his   
presence, and the Slytherins puffed up a bit. Except for... Potter and   
Malfoy. Potter looked relaxed and was smirking idly, while young Malfoy   
watched him through half-lidded eyes, seemingly searching him for   
something.   
  
This confusing change-- in Malfoy, at least-- had only started a few   
days prior to Halloween. It confused the professor, but he left it be.   
Much like he left Potter's attitude be, pretending the youth hadn't   
changed all that much. He still spoke the enchantment to lock Harry to   
his table, preventing the boy from up and leaving, and he still treated   
him the way he believed the Golden Boy needed to be treated. He just   
ignored the fury flashing in those emerald irises, ignored the sadistic   
grin that would curve those lips when none but Severus would have their   
gaze upon him.  
  
The lesson went as planned-- Gryffindor lost a wonderful total of   
thirty-five points, twenty of which came from Neville, ten from Potter,   
and five from Potter talking to Granger-- and Snape was very glad when   
he could let them leave. He didn't want to suffer under those   
surprisingly frightening-- not like he'd admit it-- green eyes of his   
most hated pupil, or the piercing, hooded smokey gaze of his most   
favored student.  
  
Harry laughed as he glided down the hall away from Potions, one of the   
last to leave the room. Draco followed him with an amused chuckle,   
wondering what the other sixteen year old was up to. It was last class   
of the day, and there was an hour's break until dinner... so where was   
Potter headed? Malfoy knew this was not the way to either the Library,   
or the Gryffindor Common Room. Not to long after, the youngest Weasley   
joined them in their prowl of the back halls of the wizarding school.  
  
The lesser used passages had become normal for this trio to stalk   
through, plotting against this teacher, or that student, always with   
something up their sleeves. The task was to do as much as they could   
possibly do using the Power, and not be detected. Not as simple as it   
may have seemed, and the wards that detected magical use in the halls--   
set up to enforce the no-fighting rule-- had to be dampened, then the   
Power had to be used. Without losing control over dampening the wards.   
Splitting one's concentration so far was not an easy task, even for   
Potter who had been training in a similar method for several months.  
  
They swerved off onto a path that neither Ginny nor Draco had bothered   
to ever investigate, although they had gone past it many a time.   
Finally, they stopped by a dusty old painting, and with a start, the   
two in-Training Weapons realized exactly where they were. This was the   
room that Harry and Draco had taken Sirius to in order to explain what   
he'd need to know in order to become a real Weapon.  
  
Muttering the password, the door swung open, allowing the two boys and   
a girl to enter. Harry didn't even bat an eyelash as his gaze settled   
upon the other occupant of the room.  
  
"Hey Mione."  
  
"Hermione?"  
  
"Mudblood?"  
  
"Hello Harry," she smiled, at him, and at Ginny, while giving Draco a   
dirty look, "What's he doing here?"  
  
"He followed me?" Harry asked, with an all to innocent grin on his   
face. Settling down onto the plush couch that was pushed up against one   
wall he chuckled, "Relax Mione, Dragon-boy here isn't going to cause   
problems. Are you, Draco?"  
  
"Maybe for your little Mudblood," muttered the grey eyed youth,   
dropping himself down onto the floor, as Virginia and Hermione had   
claimed the only two chairs in the room, "Mind explaining what this is   
all about, Potter?"  
  
"I had assumed you would have realized by now," intoned the suddenly   
silver-eyed youth, "It's not all that hard to figure out." Fingertips   
brushed along his upper right arm, dancing along something invisible   
beneath the black of his school robes.  
  
Excitement thrummed through Ginny, "You're going to take the wards   
off?"  
  
"Really?" perked up the part veela, "I've been wanting to see what the   
Power did to you since my own transformation."  
  
"Transformation...?" wondered the bushy-haired Gryffindor, "What   
transformation?"  
  
"I'll explain later," Weapon informed her, before turning his attention   
back to his students, "Unfortunately, no, I can not remove the wards--   
yet. The influence of the Dark Traitor, The Royal Ass, and the Queen   
Demon's magical essence is still too strong. However..." he trailed   
off, and Hermione picked it up, her research coming to the fore, even   
if she was leery of letting Malfoy in on it.  
  
"...If we use an athame to trace the counter-runes over top of the   
original runes, twice a day-- once in the morning and once in the   
evening-- we should be able to break the spells on the wards by New   
Years."  
  
"New Years!" squawked Virginia, "But-but that's two months away!"  
  
Weapon gave a negligible shrug, "We must live with it, unless either of   
you have thought up a way to convince our three friends to undo their   
spell...?"  
  
They shook their heads, both elated and depressed. Elated that Harry   
would finally be free, and depressed that it would take two months to   
do so. Even as frowned crossed their faces, and confusion marred   
Hermione's as she tried to piece together the puzzle that had been her   
life for the last couple weeks, Potter grinned widely.  
  
"I think it's about time that I explained a few things..."  
  
"Well, no kidding," remarked his once most hated rival.  
  
The green had returned to his eyes, and the psychopath grinned a fairly   
disconcerting grin, "Indeed, indeed. What I'm going to tell you do   
_not_ leave this room under _any_ circumstances. I hear word of this   
outside of here, and you will be Obliviated so hard that you'll know   
less than Lockhart."  
  
"Nice threat..." murmured Ginny.  
  
Since he had their confirmation of agreement, he clapped happily, "Let   
me tell you about a little something called the Balance..."  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Still making attempts at a plot. Yes, I do have a reason for Harry's   
transformation being delayed until New Years. Hehehehehehehehe ^_____^  
  
And no, it's not because you've all been asking and I'm really   
sadistic, although that _is_ a good reason. I finally know exactly what   
Harry's other form is going to look like. I didn't actually know until   
some random sketch I did on Wednesday. Mwa-hahahahahahah, you all have   
to wait! 


	26. Wraith

Well, Win98 has been fully installed, and I have a brand spankin' new   
monitor just for my computer. It's nice not having to read everything   
in shades of yellow any more.  
  
LK of Kennan - Awww, I only update three chapters a week... and I only  
do so because if I didn't, the ideas would kill me. They just... jump  
me, come friday night, and I have to sit down and type them all out   
^_____^  
  
As for how long it's going to take to get to New Years... Hmmm...  
I dunno! No real plans, actually. And to be truthful, I want to get to  
New Years as fast as everyone else, but the ideas may not agree with  
us. *shrugs*  
  
Once again, The Itch holds no rights to anything related to Harry   
Potter.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Twenty-Six: Wraith  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
When Hermione finally crawled into bed that night, she had a lot on her   
mind. First and foremost were the changes Harry had gone through in the   
year he'd been absent from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.   
His moods and personality would teeter and tip, changing with even the   
breeze outside the castle walls for all she knew. He was touched in the   
head, she believed the Muggle saying went.  
  
And now he had both Ginny and Draco following in his footsteps. Ginny   
she could understand, what with the crush the girl had once had on the   
only surviving Potter, but... Malfoy?   
  
On top of it all was what he'd told them just before dinner that day.   
  
His ideas of this great "balance", wherein muggle and wizard, elf and   
human, mortals and immortals would all live together, united under one   
ruler. There would be civil battles, as Harry could never believe in a   
world without war, he'd told them, but the battles would not be of the   
"good verus evil" and "Dark verus Light" that every child grew up on.  
  
No, these battles would be idea against idea, and he refused to allow   
someone to think otherwise. To him, if the "mini-wars", as he had   
called them, got to far out of hand a few members of his own personal   
little underground would step in and resolve the fight in the most   
simplistic way.  
  
Slaughter everyone. On both sides.  
  
She felt a chill run down her back as she realized that Harry was   
planning to set his Balance into motion by the end of her sixth year.   
To side with anyone but Harry would mean death, as all three of the   
youths had quite deliberately told her. By the end of Potter's lecture   
on what his Balance would be like, she had understood why Dumbledore   
and the other Professors had placed the sealing wards on her once best   
friend.  
  
There was a pit in her stomach as she pondered what to do.   
  
One thing she knew, however, was that she could not tell anyone. That   
much had been made clear to her. To tell could possibly send Harry off   
the deep end before she could find help for his mental instability. She   
would have to keep a close eye on him.  
  
And on Professor Wolfos, her mind supplied. The older man had taken a   
shine to Harry, and then, a few weeks later, Draco. It followed her   
time line for about when the boys became friends. Obviously, Professor   
Wolfos had some sort of vested interest in them. What it was, she   
didn't quite know yet, but that hardly meant she wouldn't find out at   
some point or another.  
  
Hopefully before New Years, when Harry got the wards off and set his   
plans in motion.   
  
---  
  
The focus of her thoughts was currently settling down for a quick nap   
in the Gryffindor Common Room before he would head out to meet with his   
own trainer in the art of being a Living Weapon. Emerald eyes slipped   
shut, and he snuggled into the couch, wrapping his ever-present   
Invisibility Cloak about himself, incase McGongall decided to check in   
on her House. It wouldn't do to be found napping on the couch.  
  
Sleep claimed him, but while his body may have been resting, his mind   
sprang to life, gleefully slipping and sliding down the track that lead   
from his Curse Scar, to the man who made it. He never had any control   
over the visions of what exactly Tom "Lord Voldemort" Riddle was doing,   
he only knew that if Tom was in a certain mood, he could slip into the   
man's reality as an astral projection.  
  
It was really quite interesting, if you thought about it one way, and   
quite annoying if you thought in a different way. Potter thought of it   
as annoying because he couldn't actually control the visions; which   
would have been a great help. Then he could at least spy on the   
muggle-hating fool and learn something important for once.  
  
As per usual for these visions-- it was actually very rare that Harry   
would see a Deatheater meeting, simply because the emotion needed to   
make the switch into viewing the present of the dark lord was,   
surprisingly, contentment-- he found himself within Riddle's   
bedchambers, watching the man sleep. It was vaguely annoying.  
  
"Careful, Harry," Weapon's monotone came from his side, and Harry   
turned to face an almost mirror image of himself. Weapon stood in his   
most human form beside him. Normally, Weapon and Harry couldn't have   
possibly stood together, but this was an astral projection.   
  
Weapon actually had three forms he could shift into-- the one he chose   
to wear at the moment was of a seven foot tall wraith in a black cloak.   
Silver eyes peered emotionlessly out from beneath wispy silver bangs,   
fangs prominent in his mouth, and skin tone pale. Through his   
chin-length locks, the long, slender elven ears he sported were   
visible.   
  
Harry knew that this was as close as Weapon could get to being human,   
without shifting control over to Harry, and said nothing about his   
appearance. Besides, he'd gotten used to it.  
  
However, just looking at the railing thin man, Harry's mind drifted   
past the sleeping Riddle and towards Draco, Ginny, and Sirius. They   
must have multiple forms, as well. He would assume Draco had a fully   
Draconic form, and Virginia some sort of large bird, while Sirius would   
likely add a Fennec to his form of the Grim. They likely had another,   
closer to human form, like Weapon did, as well. He just wondered what   
they looked like.  
  
Oh, well, it didn't really matter any ways. He'd find out soon enough.  
  
Oh, look, Riddle was waking up. How... delightful. The snake-faced man   
yawned, and stretched, cracking his back and lifting his favorite   
stuffed animal out of his lap. Then his eyes turned to the empty   
fireplace not three feet from where he had been sleeping.   
  
To Harry's surprise, a flame with eyes of shadow within suddenly   
flickered into existence. Had he been truly with Riddle, he wold not   
have been able to see the flame. However, he was just a projection, and   
could thus see it very well. Weapon cursed.   
  
Weapon cursing was far from a normal thing, since the man was normally   
stoic and unemotional. The young Potter turned to his other half,   
"Something the matter?"  
  
"That's the Power, Harry. Can you not feel it? Riddle is a Living   
Weapon!"  
  
Potter blinked, even as he felt the world fade, as his body awoke from   
it's slumber. His last words to Weapon, prior to coming back into the   
land of the waking, were "Well, that would explain how he never seemed   
to fuckin' _die_."  
  
Cracking an emerald eye open, he found himself being shaken by   
Virginia.  
  
"Gwah...? What'zit?"  
  
"Glad to have you awake," muttered the Weasley, "We've got a problem.   
Something's wrong with Malfoy."  
  
"A problem?" startled, Potter leapt to his feet, "He's in the dungeons,   
right?"  
  
"That's what the Spirits say," nodded the fifteen year old, "He's in   
his room, but something-- we don't know what-- is wrong." She was   
trying not to let any worry enter her voice. Even if she and Draco   
didn't actually get along-- being Baldy and The It-- she had grown   
somewhat attached to him.   
  
He was her punching bag, after all. She didn't want to get a new one.  
  
Swirling his cloak up around them-- and making a mental note to ask   
Ginny how she knew where he was when he'd been sleeping under it-- the   
pair made their way out of their Commons, and headed to the stairs.  
  
Harry wondered how many times Draco was going to get in trouble, and   
need him to get out of it. He also hoped nothing was seriously wrong   
with Malfoy. It had been weeks since he'd been changed by the Power.  
  
He couldn't possibly be having a negative reaction to it _now_. All the   
muggle Weapons that had died from trying to harness the power had died   
within seventy-two hours of the transformation.  
  
Right, with a nod he firmed himself. It had been more than seventy-two   
hours. A lot more. He couldn't possibly be having an adverse reaction   
to it. Nope.  
  
He'd probably just caught some form of Dragon-flu. That's all.  
  
---  
End Chapter  
  
A tiny taste of Weapon's other form. It's not the "real" form (if   
you'll notice, he's lacking his tail, among other things). At least  
you know how tall he is, now. Can you imagine how annoying it must be   
for the emotionless wonder? Normally seven feet tall, trapped in   
Harry's five foot six/five foot seven frame.   
  
And now you'll just have to wait until tomorrow to find out what's   
wrong with Malfoy. And if Potter will remember to inform his teammates   
that Riddle happens to be a Weapon, just like them. 


	27. Illness

luverofall - Er, I generally end the chapters where I fall asleep; you   
have to remember, I'm writing these things at three in the f'in   
morning-- and on the weekends, writing is the only way for me to fall   
asleep x.x  
  
Phoenix Flight don't worry about not reviewing the last chapter. I know   
what it's like to have computer problems :P  
  
Yet again, Harry Potter is JK Rowling's property, not Itch's.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Illness  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
Slytherin's, on a whole, were generally guided by a single emotion.   
It's why so many went bad-- that one emotion, considering how they were   
raised, was generally a negative one. Sometimes, Slytherin's had a   
positive emotion guiding them, but they were few and far between, and   
generally learned to be insufferable gits to survive in their own   
House.  
  
Severus Snape was guided by guilt. Long ago, it had been a seething   
hatred that had come about due to some bad experiences as a child, but   
it had changed not all that long after he'd graduated from Hogwarts.   
He'd been a Deatheater for three years by that point, and had long   
since learned how to hide his true emotions behind a mask of snide   
bastardism.  
  
Nothing could keep the fear from his face as he stood over Draco   
Malfoy's unconscious form. Thankfully, the rest of the students were   
all asleep, and would be unable to see him in such a state, but that   
did nothing to contain the fact that he was, indeed, terrified. There   
was no reason for the young Heir of the Malfoy family to be out cold on   
the dungeon floor, grey eyes staring wide and unseeing at the far wall.  
  
If it wasn't for the rise and fall of his chest, Snape would have   
thought his was dead.   
  
Dimly, the professor realized that he should probably call upon Madam   
Pomfrey, but he was unable to move. He was just so... so... confused.   
Frightened of this unnatural, impossible illness, but confused none the   
less. How in the world had Draco come to be in this state, in the first   
place?   
  
He heard one of the secret passages into the Slytherin common room   
open, and finally snapped out of his daze. He whirled, turning to face   
which ever Slytherin had been out after curfew, and using his swirling   
robes to hide Draco's insensate body. It wouldn't do for someone to   
find Malfoy in a moment or weakness. Even if he'd been watching that   
'moment' for ten minutes.  
  
However, when the two teenagers glided into the commons, Snape got the   
shock of his life. Weasley and Potter, dressed in muggle clothing,   
ignored his presence, moving around him to find Draco.   
  
"Potter! Weasley!" Snape barked, "What do you think--" but he was cut   
off by Ginny tilting her head to one side.  
  
"Is something wrong with him?"   
  
For a moment, Severus thought she was talking to him, and opened his   
mouth to snap at them, but Harry responded first.  
  
"Symptoms of using too much, Virginia," the professor's eyes widened,   
even as confusion seeped in. Since when was Potter calling the youngest   
Weasley by her full name? And using too much of what? Shions...? But   
no, why would Draco be taking shions?  
  
Then Harry scooped Draco up into his arms, and turned sharply on his   
heel. Snape scowled.  
  
"What do you think you're doing, Mister Potter?"  
  
"None of your business, My dear Dark Traitor," sneered the green eyed   
boy. He swept past Severus in much the same way that the professor   
glided down the halls of the school. It wasn't nearly as impressive,   
considering that Harry was dressed in a pair of jeans and a muscle   
shirt that showed off the sealing runes that he'd helped to cast, and   
not a robe that could flare dramatically.   
  
No, it wasn't as impressive, nor as dramatic, but it was most   
assuredly, more... lethal, perhaps was the proper word for it. There   
was an air of danger around the boy. He moved like a predator on the   
prowl.   
  
He was almost back to the passage that would lead out of the Commons   
without having to go through the entrance Portrait, when he paused. He   
turned to Virginia who had gathered up the items Draco had dropped when   
he'd gone comatose, and was only halfway to the exit, "Do something   
about Snape, Virginia. I don't want him remembering."  
  
She smirked.  
  
The only thing Severus would remember of that night, was a nightmare of   
frighteningly cold silver-steel eyes, shrouded by darkness, and milky,   
near-white irises dancing in a wave of small, but intense ruby flames.  
  
---  
  
Cradling Draco in his arms like a newborn, and thankful that Ginny had   
remained behind to take care of Snape, Weapon let Harry have control   
again. The emerald eyed boy frowned down at his cargo.  
  
He knew damned well that it wasn't symptoms of channeling to much Power   
through one's body. Doing that generally resulted in losing all   
pigmentation, and Draco still had flecks of blue in his eyes, and pink   
in his cheeks. Not to mention, Weapon wouldn't have been capable of   
feeling the hum of the Power within the other. His other half had   
confirmed that the Power was still strong within his pupil, so it   
couldn't possibly be channeling far to much.   
  
He'd just told that to Ginny, so she wouldn't worry.  
  
He didn't have any idea what was wrong with Draco, and that was   
worrying him. And it wasn't like he could just go to Pomfrey. If it had   
been a normal Wizarding sickness, Snape would have already taken Draco   
to the medi-witch. He was dealing with an unknown.  
  
And there is still Riddle, Weapon murmured the reminder to his other   
half. We can't forget him.  
  
Harry muttered something obscene, "Weapon, this ain't the time. We'll   
deal with Tom after we get the wards off like we planned. No sooner, no   
later."  
  
But for now, you wish to know what is wrong with the Dragon.  
  
"Yeah, exactly," he ignored the fact that he was talking out loud to no   
one. Someone else might think him crazy, but Weapon was a part of him,   
and talking out loud to the other half was just... normal.   
  
Still cradling Draco, he made for the room that he, Ginny, Draco and   
Hermione had been talking in just that afternoon. The pale haired boy   
was settled onto the couch, and Harry conjured a comforter with what   
part of the Power he still had access to. It left him feeling drained,   
but that was normal for trying to use the Power when he wasn't playing   
around in the Forbidden Forest.   
  
Sighing, he looked down at his friend. What the hell could be wrong   
with him? Not for the first time he cursed Dumbledore's   
short-sightedness. Leaving him without access to his full powers   
prevented him from being able to do a proper scan of Draco's body, and   
Ginny wasn't anywhere near the level of training needed in order to   
preform the scan herself.   
  
Shaking his head, the Living Weapon scowled at the couch his friend was   
on. He was going to have to develop a brand spanking new way to die,   
just for the Headmaster. He was positive that if he had full access   
he'd have figured out and fixed the problem by now.  
  
As it was, he was going to be late to his meeting with Wolfos, and his   
trainer was not a pleasant man when he was happy with you. When he was   
pissed off, it was a hell of a lot worse. A bit of acidic grumbling   
later, and Harry had Draco all settled in and comfortable. He'd be fine   
for an hour or so, while Potter spoke with his mentor.   
  
---  
  
Harry raked his fingers through his hair as he sat in the center of   
Wolfos' desk, "Something wrong, Old Man?"  
  
"How much do you know about the first generation Weapons?"  
  
Potter blinked. Wolfos hadn't asked him that question for some time   
now. He scratched the back of his skull, "Hmmm, only that they devised   
the techniques to become Weapons some seven hundred years ago. Their   
masters thought them immortal, and passed their services down through   
their families, like a samurai pledging his allegiance to his daimyo,   
and his daimyo's family. The first generation Weapons started dying   
about four hundred years after their creation, because they'd burned   
themselves out with the Power. Uh... that until about seventy years   
ago, no one thought of altering the techniques of training, until one   
of the Lordless Weapons thought up a new training regimen."  
  
"And...?"  
  
"And... uh..." the sixteen year old crossed his eyes trying to remember   
everything Wolfos had told him before Harry was trained in how to be a   
Weapon, "Oh! Right! The Weapon didn't want to try it on himself, so he   
took a student. That student became the first of the second generation   
Weapons, and was soul-bound to her trainer, because she was a mind-less   
toy. Other first generation Weapons took their own 'apprentices', and   
had their own little soul-bonded minions. Most first gens were dark   
wizards, or muggles that were generally considered 'evil', and they   
used their soul-bonded like slaves. Soooooo, what does this have to do   
with anything, ya Old Fool?"  
  
Wolfos gave him a horrid looking grin, "The Weapon that created the   
process for second generation Weapons is still alive, but his   
soul-bonded second generation Weapon has recently died. Been   
thinking... you up for putting Weasley or Malfoy in the girl's place?   
They're still in training after all."  
  
And Potter's eyes narrowed sharply, flashing to Weapon's emotionless   
silver, "They are _my_ students to teach. I won't have you auctioning   
them off."  
  
Wolfos frowned, "I thought you'd like to have them off your shoulders.   
Have some free time again."  
  
"Don't bothering trying to ask me again, Daemen. I will still refuse,"   
Weapon's voice was stone. He stood stiffly, stalking out of the old   
professor's office.   
  
Daemen frowned, "Damn. I guess that spell on Malfoy wasn't strong   
enough."  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Yeah, Wolfos is a bastard. Get used to it ^____^ 


	28. Contemplations

S.Raven... you're a Yu-Gi-Oh fan, aren't you? Artemis sounds fun ^___^   
and I'm glad you love my fic.   
  
LadyPegasus - *pats your shoulder* there there, I have Harry/Draco   
goodness in a fic that I've only just started sketching out (it's not   
very good...) that'll get posted after I finish work on Blackened   
Sunrise. Or, if I'm feeling completely and totally psychotic, it'll be   
up next week. One or the other.   
  
*hefts an uzi into the air, eye twitching* NO MORE CHRISTMAS CAROLS!!!   
Too many, make them stop... *whimpers* I spent the last week listening   
to those bloody songs over the intercom at school because some twit   
thought they were "nice". No, not nice! Parody carols, nice. Opera   
carols, BAD!!   
  
Harry Potter is so far from being property of Itch, that Rowling would   
laugh hysterically if someone even thought of it.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Twenty Eight: Contemplation  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
When Hermione entered the small room that she'd been shown the day   
prior, she came across a most unusual scene.  
  
Draco was on the couch, a comforter wrapped around him, looking very   
much like he was dead. Ginny was curled up in one of the armchairs,   
fast asleep, eyes moving behind her eyelids, deep in REM sleep. Harry   
happened to be leaning against the couch Draco was one, eyes fluttering   
open, then falling closed every few minutes.  
  
She wondered if he'd even gotten any sleep the night before.   
  
Despite having seen him in the Great Hall for breakfast-- where,   
shortly thereafter, she'd performed the first of two months worth of   
twice-daily spells that would release him from his bindings-- Harry had   
not shown up for any of his classes. It was now nearly an hour after   
dinner, and time for the second casting.   
  
She wondered if she could do it.  
  
Could she honestly unleash this "Balance" Harry seemed to be so   
obsessed with, upon the wizarding-- and muggle!-- world? But with him   
sitting there, messy, tangled ebon hair tumbling into his face,   
brushing his glasses, and falling to his chin, he didn't look like   
anyone special. The angle of the entrance to him also hid his eyebrow   
ring, and his hair hid his nose and lip rings. He was curled up in his   
robes, and looked more like a child dressing in his elder brother's   
clothes, then the mastermind behind the destruction of the known world,   
and recreation into the Balance.  
  
He was once her best friend.  
  
Staring at the way he seemed to be guarding Draco, she wondered if that   
was still true. It didn't seem all that likely, not anymore...   
  
Her thoughts were interrupted by Harry leaping to his feet, eyes open,   
but emerald eyes unseeing. His lips pulled back into a feral snarl, and   
he snapped something out in parseltongue. Whatever he'd said, she had   
no idea, but the tone behind it made it sound like an insult, and the   
generally evil feeling of the language sent chills down her spine. She   
would never tell Harry, but she absolutely despised parseltongue.   
  
After a moment, he calmed, still muttering in the tongue of snakes,   
before blinking and awakening out of his trace, "Eh...? Oh, hey   
'Mione!"  
  
"Hi Harry," she was rather proud the uncertain note of her thoughts was   
completely absent from her words, "ready for spell number two?"  
  
A cheerful grin crossed his features, that just seemed a mite to   
sadistic for her and he whipped off his robes, revealing the black   
metal gauntlet, the grey muscle shirt, and the black jeans he wore   
beneath it. The leather of the rune-warded bands around his arms was   
dull, but the runes themselves sparkled in the merry firelight of the   
room's illumination.  
  
Stepping forwards, she brandished the ceremonial knife with which she   
was to preform the de-runing spell. Counter-runes were etched into the   
air over each rune inscribed on the leather, the softly glowing ruby   
light that formed the counter-runes the only sign of Hermione's one   
magical energies at work.  
  
Each and every rune had to be taken care of, on both arms. It was a   
tiring, draining task, and Hermione felt ready to pass out, coupling   
this drain on her power, and the one from twelve hours earlier, on top   
of what power she'd expended during her lessons for the day.  
  
Once the small ritual was complete, she sunk into the room's other   
chair, while Harry gathered his robes, and re-donned them. He tugged   
the sleeves over his gauntlets, careful to keep the simple cotton from   
snagging on the hilts of the knives that poked up out of the gauntlets.   
  
Hermione hadn't noticed that Harry was a walking wall of weapons until   
the day he'd told her about the Balance. She had been stunned that she   
could miss such a thing. How could it even be possible? They had been   
best friends.  
  
Key words: Had been.  
  
Another glance at Draco made the pit in her stomach turn into a rock.   
Harry had gone and made one of his former enemies into his best friend,   
within the two months he'd been back at the school-- back in the   
wizarding world. What about when he had been "missing"? Did he have any   
friends from that point in time? Others who would help him in his   
Balance?  
  
No one knew where he had been during that time aside from Professor   
Wolfos-- and that was only because the Professor had been the one to   
train him. She could bet that even Ginny and Draco had no idea what had   
happened, what he'd done, where he'd been during that mysterious year.   
It was a bit disturbing.  
  
Harry had caught her glance at Draco, "Don't know what's wrong with   
him," the green-eyed sociopath frowned, crossing his arms, "I've never   
seen anything like it."  
  
"He thought it was channeling to much power," Ginny's voice startled   
her, and she looked up to see the fuzzy-headed Weasley staring into her   
own eyes, calmly, "But after Harry did a closer inspection, he hadn't   
found any sign of that. We have no idea what's wrong with him."  
  
Hermione frowned, "It could be just a flu-virus," she suggested, a bit   
lamely. She knew that there was no "flu-virus" that would result in a   
comatose state of non-being. She set her mind on the problem of what   
was wrong with the young heir of the Malfoy family. It would at least   
keep her thinking from all the problems that could come about from   
releasing Harry's wards.  
  
"Can't be," muttered that self-same boy, "The Power makes us immune to   
human viruses."  
  
"Human...?" Hermione looked confused, before her mind alighted on   
something, "You never told me what Draco meant when he mentioned   
transformations yesterday!"  
  
He frowned, "I suppose now is as good a time as any. Virginia? Would   
you care to remove your ward?"  
  
The youngest Weasley shrugged, "No problem," and removed the leather   
band from around her wrist. Before Granger's stunned eyes, Virginia had   
suddenly sprouted feathers and talons from beneath her robes. The   
red-feathered fifteen year old rolled her shoulders, and yawned,   
loudly, "I'm still a bit tired, Harry..."  
  
"Sleep then, Virginia," the sixteen year old stated it like a command,   
"Rest, then we will do some practice."  
  
"Night-night," she cooed like a young child, drifting off once more.   
Hermione stared at the bird-girl for a few more minutes.  
  
"Wha... what was that? That's not an animagus form!"  
  
"You're right, it's not," she jumped at the monotonous chill in Harry's   
voice, and she turned back to him, to stare into eyes the color of   
steel, "That is her true form, the form the Power felt fit her best. No   
one escapes the Power unchanged... some more so than others."  
  
"H-Harry??"  
  
"Weapon," he corrected absently, "Harry calls me Weapon. I am his   
change. Come... can you think of any reason for the Dragon to be in   
this... state?"  
  
"The Dra... you mean Draco?" this man, this 'Weapon', was creeping her   
out. When the ebon haired youth nodded, she bit her lip. What could it   
possibly be? No human virus, so what... wait, "Can your... er... 'true   
forms' get ill?"  
  
"It is no dragon-flu," he turned back to the other boy, "Harry and I   
have already checked. I do not understand what could have..." he   
trailed off, staring blankly, apparently ashamed that he had no idea as   
to why Draco would no wake up.  
  
"Well, we've ruled out human-flus, dragon-flus, a spell, channeling to   
much--"  
  
"Wait."  
  
"Hmmm?"  
  
Weapon frowned at her, "You said something... about a spell?"  
  
She looked a bit surprised that he hadn't even thought about it, "Of   
course! There is basically a spell for everything. Didn't you think to   
see if there was a spell on Malfoy?"  
  
Weapon, surprisingly, managed to look ashamed, even if it only was a   
shift of his gaze onto the floor, "I... did not think of such. I   
have... not used magic very often, and did not come to that   
conclusion."  
  
"What about Harry, then?" Hermione titled her head to one side,   
pondering the question. Surely her former best bud would have   
remembered that there could have been a spell involved... Right?  
  
The silver-eyed man shook his head slowly, from side to side, "Harry's   
knowledge of spells pertains to what he has learned in school, and from   
experiences. He had no knowledge that there was a spell to induce a   
comatose-like trance."  
  
She blinked a couple times. That had been... different. It really was   
strange to listen to Weapon speak. He spoke so differently from her off   
the wall friend.  
  
"Right," she finally nodded, "I guess that's what we do next then?"  
  
"Search for a spell to tell us what spell, exactly, has been cast on   
the Dragon?"  
  
As his eyes brightened back into their normal emerald, she nodded, and   
smiled slightly. It was almost like things were back to normal between   
them, "To the Library?"  
  
"To the library!"  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Lame ending, I know. Next chapter, they find out what exactly is wrong   
with Draco. Or not. I may go on some strange tangent. Who knows? 


	29. More Plot

I'm going to a party tonight, and I don't know when I'll be back. Most   
likely, not until tomorrow afternoon. Which means I probably won't be   
writing the next chapter. I might, but I might not. It really depends   
on whether or not I bother to come home before the sun rises.   
  
Which is unlikely. I generally have a habit of being the last to leave ^_____^  
  
Ran - You know Leigh? Ehehehehehe, yeah, I'm the same Itch she was   
complaining about in her fic (is it any good? I've never bothered to   
actually read any of her stuff ^___^) She wasn't very happy about me   
appearing on her doorstep yesterday morning. And it was seven-thirty,   
not six. She likes to exaggerate.  
  
Ghost Dancer - I'm glad you like it enough to write half your review in   
caps ^___^  
  
Harry Potter still doesn't belong to the Itch.   
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Twenty-nine: More Plot  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
  
His patience had finally snapped. He was rather pleased that he'd   
lasted as long as he had. A full year and a half. If he wasn't with his   
'companions', he'd laugh gleefully, spin in circles and hug Rilos.   
  
As it was, he'd dropped the industrial strength illusion that made up   
the face of Tomas Riddle, donned the oh-so-comfy black robes of his   
station, and hauled butt to his command center. The mansion was   
appropriately dark and dreary, with a touch of menace, as some muggle   
recording systems played back scream after scream. Just because he   
didn't like muggles, never meant that he didn't like what they created.   
  
In fact, he was rather fond of computers. Such an easy way to store   
spells...  
  
In any case, most of the fun deaths took place at his tower, and in his   
"research facility", not at this big old mansion that looked like it   
came out a horror film. Tom actually didn't like the place, but his   
followers expected certain things of him, and who was he to disappoint?  
  
After all, once he'd killed all the muggles and mudbloods-- excluding   
himself, of course-- he could unleash his _wonderful_ sense of style on   
the Wizarding World. And, of course, without all their insipid little   
"heros", they'd have to do whatever he said.  
  
Oh, how he adored being in control!   
  
Drawing his attention back to the fore, the man known as Voldemort   
stared cooly out of the chilling blood red eyes that he believed to be   
"bloody wicked", if he was remembering the slang that one muggle had   
said before undergoing the untested "treatment". Those eyes bore into   
the skulls of the men that were gathered around him, heads bowed.   
Nagini was curled around his throne, hissing idly at various death   
eaters.  
  
They probably thought she was mocking their worthiness to be called   
before their lord and master. She was more or less insulting them. Tom   
rather liked the one about Lucius Malfoy being a spineless wimp, if   
only because Nagini was laughing about him having pissed his pants when   
he'd first arrived. Tom noted the flicker of a flame out of the corner   
of his eye, and smirked.  
  
The death eaters knew that this did not bode well for them.  
  
---  
  
Several kilometers away, stood Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and   
Wizardry. And within Hogwarts was a library. The library had a   
restricted section.   
  
The restricted section had visitors.  
  
Hermione and Harry had already been through the books in the rest of   
the library, and had been unable to find any spell that caused any   
effects similar to whatever it was that Draco was currently going   
through. Therefore, in a reasonable passage of logic, they decided the   
restricted section held the answers.   
  
Granger had been unsure as to how exactly they were supposed to enter   
the section without being caught, and without a pass. There was no way   
for them to get in, she believed, and had attempted to explain that to   
the emerald-eyed youth she had accompanied more out of fear he'd do   
something like start his "Balance" early, rather than any real want to   
help him. Oh, sure, she wanted to know what was wrong with Draco, but   
the longer the white-haired youth was under, the more distracted Harry   
got.  
  
And if Potter was distracted, there was the very real possibility that   
he would forget this Balance of his, and she wouldn't have to rat out a   
friend to Dumbledore.   
  
Unfortunately, Harry had smirked at her, and accessed what little Power   
he had to get into the restricted section undetected. They had been   
within the walls of books for several hours by this point, and Hermione   
felt about to fall asleep. The Living Weapon that had accompanied her   
frowned. A tired woman would hardly be of any help. Shaking his head,   
the dark haired student dropped his hand onto her shoulder.  
  
He was positive she jumped a good three feet into the air.  
  
"Oh! Oh, Harry, it's just you," her hand settled on her breast, over   
her head, "You startled me."  
  
"You're tired," he spoke with the same voice he'd used earlier on   
Virginia to tell her to go to bed, "You should best go back to the   
Tower."  
  
"Wha-but I'm not finished with thi--"  
  
"You are," his tone brooked no argument, "You need your sleep. Go."  
  
Tiredly she stood, and was almost around the corner of the shelving   
before pausing, "Harry?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"What about you?"  
  
His emerald eyes glinted with a momentarily insane light, and she felt   
a chill race down her. Then, it was gone, replaced with the cool,   
determined light she had seen when he'd looked down at Draco, trying to   
figure out what was wrong with his friend, "I don't need sleep. A   
Weapon must be ready to fight at all hours. Now, go."  
  
She would be tucking herself into her bed in the Tower before she   
realized that when he'd said "A Weapon", he wasn't talking about that   
silver-eyed stranger that co-habited his body. By that point she would   
be to tired to do much more than understand that thought before falling   
asleep.   
  
Harry returned to his perusal of the dark arts books that occupied the   
section of the library considered restricted. His eyes watered behind   
his glasses, and he sighed. Just because he didn't have to sleep,   
didn't mean he didn't like it. Sleep was the restoration period for the   
body, and if he didn't get either some sleep, or some mediation time,   
he was going to lose it at some point or another.  
  
Either he would falter in battle due to sleep deprivation, and the   
unhealthy condition of the body it created, or he would slip into one   
of his more psychotic moods, and utterly destroy someone. Either   
physically or mentally, it didn't matter. All he knew, was that it   
would happen.  
  
His bastard of a mentor had purposely withheld that information back   
when he'd been training in how to be a Weapon. Potter knew exactly what   
he'd done during the period where he'd completely lost it while   
training-- even if he hadn't been able to remember it, there were still   
the videotapings Wolfos had created. Daemen was a sick old man, Harry   
knew, wanting to keep those tapes.   
  
It wasn't for blackmail, or any such thing. It was simply because   
Daemen enjoyed the carnage that the tapes would present him with.   
Potter may have been insane, and he may be quite capable of taking a   
life without batting an eye, but he didn't reveal in the pain he   
caused. Daemen and Draco could do that. Virginia and Sirius had a habit   
of allowing themselves to reveal in the pain that people caused him.   
He, Harry James Potter, would settle simply for the thrill of battle.   
  
That was why he did anything these days. The bloodlust sung in his   
veins, and colored even the emotionless Weapon's thoughts. Nothing   
mattered but the fight.   
  
Well, Draco, Virginia and Sirius had wedged their selves in there   
somehow, so he supposed that all he cared about was those three and the   
fight. Which explained why he was rooting through Dark Arts books at   
three in the morning. Flich would be coming by this area soon, he knew,   
from previous nights spent in the library.   
  
He swept the books he'd been looking through into a bag, swinging it   
onto his shoulder, and darting out of the library. The shadows welcomed   
their brethren, hiding him from the prying eyes of the janitor. And it   
was none to soon. For three minutes, to the dot, of when he'd exited   
the Restricted Section, Flich and Mrs Norris entered it; Harry was   
safely ensorcelled in the shadows, and moving towards the room he'd   
left Draco in. He'd finish his research there.  
  
---  
  
Wolfos yawned, before stumbling to the mirror hanging on the wall of   
his room, before glaring at it evilly. The sound that had awoken him   
from his slumber shrilled from the mirror again, and he spat angrily,   
"Bi Xia!"  
  
The mirror swirled, and he was granted the image of the snaky-face of   
his best friend, "Did I wake you up?" sneered the reflection, and   
Wolfos gave him an annoyed glare.  
  
"Yes, dammit. What the hell are you calling at four in the bloody   
morning for, you great bloody git?!"  
  
He could hear stunned whispers in the background, coming from behind   
Voldemort. A nasty smile crossed his lips as he realized that he'd just   
insulted his childhood friend in front of said friend's ever-so-loyal   
follower. He would almost bet money on the fact that they expected   
their Dark Lord to respond with threats and violence, but to their   
continual shock, Tom ignored it.  
  
"Did it work?"  
  
It took Daemen's sleepy mind a few minutes to understand what he was   
asking, before realizing that the "great evil" was talking about the   
spell, "I cast it and it worked."  
  
A cheerful look appeared on the snake-faced one, and Wolfos gave in to   
the temptation to try and imagine what the deatheaters would look like   
if they ever saw that expression. Being Riddle's friend for years upon   
years, Wolfos had already seen that expression far to many times to   
count. Especially since it had taken his research skills to find the   
information on how to transform Tom Riddle, aka Voldemort, into one of   
the Living Weapons; the features of the snake being Tom's own change   
via the Power.   
  
"How long will it take?"  
  
"Weapon was not responsive," grumbled the lavender-eyed DADA Professor,   
"If I didn't know that Weapon can not form emotional attachments to   
anyone, or emotions for that matter, I'd think he actually enjoyed   
teaching Weasley and Malfoy."  
  
Voldemort scowled darkly, "Are you telling me that I will not be able   
to find a replacement for Rapier?"  
  
"Tom, you've known me for years. When have I not been able to deliver?"  
  
There were more noises of shock in the background, that this old man--   
who some of the deatheaters were surprised to realize was their old   
Potions Master from their days at Hogwarts-- would dare to call their   
master "Tom"! No one had that right, their Master was above everyone   
and everythi--  
  
"You've always delivered," Voldemort returned sulkily, ignoring his   
followers for the moment. He'd punish them for their mutterings once   
he'd finished his conversation. Daemen was the only one he'd allow to   
speak to him in such a matter-- and that was only because Daemen had   
practically been the one to raise him once Tom had hit first year at   
Hogwarts. Wolfos was his best friend, "Even if it happens to take   
_years_ for you to do so."  
  
Daemen gave him a ruthless grin, "Believe me, my dear, dear friend:   
Weapon will be giving up one of his toys. Soon, you will have either   
the bird or the dragon to keep you company."  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Now, do we see why Wolfos was going to give Draco/Ginny to the Weapon   
to design the first of the Second Generation Weapons? Yeah, it was Tom.   
Who _else_ would design a method that left a Weapon completely   
dependant on their Master?  
  
If you didn't understand it, "Bi Xia" is Wolfos' password to make the   
mirror work. It's also blatantly stolen from Eve of Extinction; Bi Xia   
is Raven's Legacy Weapon, which is essentially an energy weapon with a   
soul (she's a pair of Tonfa).  
  
Oh, yeah, if the next chapter isn't up tomorrow, it'll be up on   
Tuesday. 


	30. Clarification

Heh, I figured I wouldn't get this up until today. Remember that party   
I said I was going to on Sunday? Me and the Hostess were the only ones   
not to get completely pissed. Why? Because the two of us had evil plans   
to explain to the others what they did when drunk out of their minds.  
  
One of the girls always said "SpongeBob" before a sentence, for some   
reason. That was just plain weird.  
  
koashura - Yeah, the friendship of Tom and Wolfos is a fun thing to   
write. I'll probably do a oneshot of how they met at some point.   
  
guess - That's the second time my characters have been compared to   
characters from Gundam Wing. *pauses* Hmmm, never really thought of   
Wolfos acting like J, probably because Harry is more like Duo on crack,   
than Hiiro.   
  
Temptress - Mwahahahahahahahaha, there are reasons Tom and Harry are so   
similiar.   
  
Harry Potter is still property of JK Rowling.  
Bastardly Daemon Wolfos is The Itch's toy.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Thirty: Clarification  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
Three days had passed. Three long, tiring days, and Draco still hadn't   
awoken. Harry had not found the solution to the problem, and had   
skipped out on his classes in order to try and figure out the puzzle of   
the mysterious ailment. Hermione had come and gone, twice a day, in   
order to retrace the counter runes, and while Harry knew she was   
humming-and-hawing about his plans and what she could do to counter-act   
them, he didn't really care.  
  
He'd worry about that, following the Slytherin that was laid up in   
their Secret Room coming too. At that point he'd start weaving truth   
and half-truths about her to pull her firmly into his bases' camp. He   
wasn't about to let the teenaged genius fall into their Albus or Tom's   
hands. That would be far to dangerous-- she knew far to much about him,   
Weapon, and everything that went on after hours.  
  
She didn't have the potential to become a Living Weapon-- her life had   
been comfortable excluding the adventures she'd gone on with him during   
their first four years. What was needed to be able to truly become a   
Living Weapon was years of hardship; Sirius had spent twelve years in   
Azkaban. Draco had grown up in a loveless family, the heir to a   
fortune, and utterly alone. Ginny was raised in the shadows of all six   
of her brothers, and had problems making friends after that "incident"   
in her first year. It didn't matter that no one knew she'd been the   
Heir; what mattered was that she knew.   
  
That knowledge had made her terrified of others, prevented her from   
truly reaching out to them. A self-imposed exile, at eleven years of   
age.  
  
And Harry... he had become a Weapon in that instant that his parents   
had been executed for standing against the Dark Lord. The moment that   
he had been hit with the Killing Curse, and automatically reached for   
the Power of the Living Weapon in order to save his own life. He had   
been to young to be able to call upon the strife and harshness of life   
needed to create the rift that gave access to the Power-- but he had   
been, for a moment, connected to Voldemort.  
  
And Tom Marvolo Riddle was a Living Weapon.  
  
Almost a decade and a half later, he'd been approached, and this time,   
he had his own, personal link to the Power. Yet still, he had a   
connection to Voldemort's. That connection had been forgotten since his   
own training in the use of the Power-- or, at least, Harry had   
forgotten it. Weapon was still carefully monitoring it.  
  
Weapon monitored everything. And in that instant, at four in the   
morning of the fifth day of Malfoy's illness, Weapon felt a stirring   
along the link. He turned his full attention to the link, trying to   
discover what exactly it was that Riddle was attempting to do, while   
Harry perused the Dark Arts books he'd duplicated. The spell he'd used   
was hardly impossible to use-- most people just didn't know about it   
because it was highly illegal.   
  
Not to mention being in the books he'd swiped from the library that   
second night of Draco's comatose state.  
  
Curious about what could possibly catch Weapon's full attention, Harry   
withdrew from his books, long enough to realize that he wasn't alone in   
the room anymore. Oh, he'd subconsciously noticed the company, however,   
his subconscious had labeled it as an ally, and bothered no further.  
  
Sirius was back.  
  
A joyful look crossed those insanity wrought features, and the dark   
haired Weapon bounced over to his godfather, and wrapping him in a   
tight hug, "Padfoot!"  
  
"Hey Harry," Sirius looped one arm around Harry, wincing slightly as   
his arm brushed his side. It had been broken during his mission to   
Russia, and only a low-level healing spell had been used to set it and   
speed healing. As it was, the bone was still fractured, but it was   
hardly enough to worry about. It would heal fast enough.  
  
Of course, Harry was rather observant of the older man, and pulled back   
almost immediately, "What happened?"  
  
"Ambushed," he settled back into a chair, "I don't know who the hell   
these people were-- I've never seen anything like them. They weren't   
Deatheaters, and they weren't Aurors, and they sure as shit weren't   
Weapons."  
  
"So, describe them," Harry commanded, revealing in the distraction the   
conversation would provide. It always helped to go back to a problem   
with a fresh mind, it was just that Harry hadn't found anything that   
sufficiently distracted him. Thank the gods that Sirius had returned.  
  
Sirius used his good arm to rub at the shaggy beard that covered his   
chin, "About five, five and a half feet tall, all of them had spiky   
white hair, tanned skin. They were like us-- part animal, part human--   
but not like us. More animal I guess, instinct wise, I mean. I   
recognized some of the more canine ones acting in ways that my   
instincts tell me to act like when I'm Padfoot."  
  
Throughout the description, Harry's face darkened, a scowl lighting his   
features, and making his eyes seem to glow ominously, "I know what they   
were."  
  
"You do?" the older man wondered, a relieved smile crossing his lips,   
"So they're some of Voldemort's goons?"  
  
"Hardly."  
  
"But... you said..."  
  
It was about this point that Weapon generally took the reins of a   
conversation, but he was still monitoring the link between himself and   
the Dark Lord. Harry's emotions swept through him, swirling his school   
robes and hair, and Sirius could literally _feel_ the Power flowing off   
him. The counter-runes were doing wonders for freeing his power, and   
this little demonstration only fueled it. Several weeks worth of work   
was shaved off as the stretching of magical "muscles" shoved at the   
bonds of rune-magic holding him. He would be free by early December.   
  
"I know what they are," Harry repeated, "And I want to know why the Old   
Fool would pull a stunt like this!"  
  
"Professor Wolfos...?"  
  
Harry stomped a foot, the shadows shivering with his actions as he   
stormed around the room. Fury marked his features as he fumed,   
subconsciously lashing out as he tried to understand the man that had   
spent a year raising him.  
  
"They're called the Reu," the teenager explained, "Created by fusing a   
muggle and an animal together using dark arts. Daemen loved   
experimenting and creating them for fun. They were his personal   
servants, although I have seen a few around Riddle in my Dream-Visions.   
What I want to know is why he had you ambushed."  
  
"It could have been Voldemort, though, couldn't it?" Sirius didn't   
really believe it, but then, he'd never really trusted his former   
Potions Master. He was only searching for excuses because Harry seemed   
rather shattered by the information he'd been given. Wolfos had meant a   
lot to him.  
  
Harry shook his head, eyes flicking to Draco, "To many coincidences."  
  
"Mind explaining?" the dog-animagus questioned, "I haven't been here   
for weeks!"  
  
Harry began ticking off his fingers, "First, Draco falls ill. We can't   
figure out what's wrong with him. Second, you're ambushed by a group of   
Reu. Third, Wolfos has been pestering me to send one of my students to   
the Creator of the Second Generation, so that his now dead bonded   
Living Weapon can be replaced. Far to many coincidences."  
  
"It could be just coincidence, though," interrupted another voice, and   
the two men looked up to see Hermione and Virginia enter the room. It   
had been Ginny who had spoken. The bushy-haired witch beside her shook   
her head.  
  
"You know as well as I do that coincidence never comes into play when   
it's Harry Potter."  
  
"All to true," Ginny murmured, "Welcome back, Sirius. Any luck on   
finding out what's wrong with It?"  
  
"Nothing," Harry grumbled, sulking as he sat himself down on top of   
Draco's stomach. He was getting rather fed up on trying to wake up his   
friend. He needed someone there to help balance out his insanity and   
anger. As long as Malfoy was around, he had a relatively safe outlet   
for such actions.   
  
After all, they had been fighting for nearly the entire time they'd   
known each other.  
  
Hermione crossed her arms, "Did you try Merlin's Runes?"  
  
"His Damned Squiggles were the first thing I checked, 'Mione. No such   
luck. All I know is it's a Dark Magic Spell."  
  
"Wonderful," the genius rubbed her forehead, "This was just what we   
needed. Professor Wolfos wants to rid himself of some students, Malfoy   
is ill, Ron is getting suspicious, Snape is being a right proper git,   
and life just _sucks_!"  
  
"Wow," whistled Virginia, "I didn't think you had it in you, Hermione.   
You just threw a royal bitch-fit."  
  
"You're to kind," muttered the muggleborn, before she paused, "Wait,   
that's a muggle-saying..."  
  
"Yeah, so?"  
  
She snapped her fingers, "What if we've been going about this all   
wrong?"  
  
"Care to explain?" Harry learned forwards, planting his elbows on his   
knees. This was what he liked. Watching Hermione go through her   
'I-am-_such_-a-genius' routine, and figuring out the explanation. It   
was almost like a game to figure it out first.  
  
"Well," she smiled smugly, "Muggles had different languages for pretty   
much every country, right?"  
  
"Again: Yeah, so?"  
  
The Gryffindor that really should have been a Ravenclaw started pacing   
around the room, "So, there's got to be more than one spell-language.   
Something that would be easier to pronounce in say... Asian nations?   
Considering every time a Japanese wizard tried to say 'Lumos', he'd   
instead say 'Rumos', they've got to have another language for their   
spells."  
  
She'd manage to lose everyone in the room. Sighing, she back-tracked to   
give them the simplified answer.  
  
"Guys, what I'm saying is that maybe, just maybe, the spell used on   
Draco isn't in Latin. It could be in... in... Chinese for all I know!"  
  
The Weapons looked between themselves absolutely stunned. They'd never   
thought of that. And Sirius nodded slowly.  
  
"I can remember, back in my fifth year, that Professor Wolfos would   
often mutter to himself in other languages. It's highly likely that he   
knows how to cast spells in them," the In-Training Weapon's lips   
quirked, "Looks like we need to learn another language to find out what   
spell's been put on Malfoy."  
  
"Yeah," Ginny agreed, "But who's going to be able to do that? I don't   
think any of us, except maybe It, has been around enough places and   
people to have picked up any other languages."  
  
That's when Hermione smiled, feeling like she had a place in this   
ground that she'd never be able to fully understand, "That's where I   
come in."  
  
Harry clapped her on the shoulder, "After all, 'Mione's a genius. If   
she can't figure it out, it's not worth understanding."  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Ever notice I seem to end all the chapters on someone talking?  
  
Oh, yeah, Merry Christmas! Happy Yuletide! And other Holiday Greetings! 


	31. Waking

I was playing Legend of Dragoon for the nine billionth time (have we   
established the fact that I'm a gamefreak, yet?) and that eternal   
question came back to haunt me.  
  
How in God's name did Zieg ever put up with being called "Zieggy"?! And   
has anyone else noticed that Zieg and Millions Knives have the same   
train of thought? And dialogue for that matter. "Are you pointing a gun   
at me?!"/"Are you pointing a sword at your father?!"   
  
Uhm, yeah, pointless babble.  
  
chibi - I really don't have any clue what bi xia translates to. Like I   
said previously, it's the name of Raven's Legacy in EOE.   
  
Fire-Mage - I do believe that was the _longest_ review I've ever   
gotten. The party being the one I went to, correct? Oh, I've got tons   
of those stories; you ever watch two drunks trying to speak the   
dialogue of The Lord of the Ring while watching it?   
  
I'm on a list of Dark!Harry fics? Really? What list is this? And yes, I   
did enjoy reading it ^____^ Reading messages from the insane ones is   
always fun.  
  
Pothead and crew belong to no one but their creator, who is JK Rowling.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter thirty-one: Waking  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
Albus Dumbledore was worried.  
  
Severus had just given him news that Voldemort was planning something--   
what, neither knew, only that he was-- and a number of his students had   
gone missing. Four, in fact, and no one knew where they were. Ginny   
Weasley, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. If it had   
been Ron Weasley in Draco's place, he'd have been able to understand   
it; but it wasn't. What did three Gryffindors and a Slytherin have in   
common, that would cause them all to vanish at once?  
  
Perhaps Tom had them...? That would explain why he was plotting, but   
not _how_ he had gotten the students.   
  
The old wizard's mind slipped to Daemon Wolfos. The younger, yet still   
old, Wizard had been on the staff of Hogwarts for many long years-- in   
fact, he became the Potions Master less then a year after Albus himself   
became Headmaster. Unfortunately, just his previous experience teaching   
at the school did not disavow his fears that the DADA professor had   
something to do with the disappearances.  
  
Albus could well remember days spent watching the plotting pair of Tom   
and Daemon, wondering what the two boys were up to this time. It would   
be just like _both_ of them, to have kept their "friendship" all these   
long years, if only to have access to someone who knew them inside and   
out, and able to see flaws in each others' plans. There had been many a   
day while he taught them, where he wondered why Wolfos had been placed   
into Ravenclaw, and not Slytherin.   
  
So the bearded wizard hesitated; he took no action to reveal nor   
confirm his suspicions. As it was, it didn't really matter.  
  
It wasn't what Riddle or Wolfos were planning that he should have been   
concerned about.   
  
It was the course of action Harry Potter had decided upon.  
  
---  
  
It was mid-way through December before they found any reference to a   
Japanese-spoken spell that would bring about symptoms not unlike what   
Draco was suffering through. Although, suffering was a bad word for it;   
they had figured he was in a state of suspended animation. This because   
he did not need anything to survive, he just... did.  
  
It was called the Seikishin spell; Reborn Life, if Hermione had   
translated it correctly. Essentially, the spell held one within   
suspended animation, until such a time the caster releases them, or   
dies. It had been designed originally to be used on members of the   
nobility while during the Meiji Revolution in Japan; supposedly to   
extend their lives until such a time as the war was over and their rule   
was uncontested.   
  
Unfortunately, there were side effects.  
  
The mind did not shut down. It was fully active the entire time they   
were in the slumber, and generally resulted in the being held within   
the spell's grasp to be slowly driven insane. Hermione had been   
absolutely stunned when none of the three that she was with seemed to   
bat an eye, up until Virginia took her aside and explained that a side   
effect of becoming and Living Weapon, was that the Power slowly drove   
one insane.  
  
When one is insane, one does not have nearly so many morals, and can   
therefore be a proper Weapon.  
  
Still, the thought that he could be driving himself mad sufficed to   
spur her onwards, ever more quickly. Despite the fact that he was Draco   
Malfoy, despite the fact that neither had ever appeared to have any   
sort of compassion for one another, she wasn't about to let someone be   
driven into St. Mungos just because she didn't want to find them a   
cure.  
  
Draco had been comatose since mid-November. He'd been under for nearly   
a month. In a week, he was expected back at Malfoy Manor; not only   
that, but in a week, he was supposed to be coming up with a feasible   
excuse as to exactly _why_ he'd stopped communicating with Lucius, why   
he'd stopped coming to his father for council on everything he did. He   
was likely not to be capable of doing any such things if he remained in   
this state.  
  
So Hermione had joined them on skipping out of classes for the last   
week-- only catching up on what they were supposed to be doing in class   
by using a Time Turner, when Harry tried to force her to sleep. She   
barely got three hours of rest per night. It was nerve wracking, and   
more than once had she fallen asleep while researching.  
  
She would always awaken back in her dorm room; unsure of who had   
"delivered" her. Was it Sirius? Harry? Ginny? She had no idea, and she   
was normally long gone by the time any of the other sixth year girls   
awoke, perpetuating the idea that she was, indeed, missing.  
  
"So how do we reverse the spell?" Sirius rubbed his eyes, his ears   
flopping about as he shuffled across the floor. Both Virginia and   
Sirius had shifted back into their natural forms, so as not to   
uselessly expend the energy of forcing magic through their wards in   
order to sustain the human appearance. After all, Hermione already   
knew, so what did it matter?  
  
The young genius covered a yawn, stretching, "We just have to use the   
Japanese version of 'finite incantantum'."  
  
"Which would be...?" prodded Potter, who was apparently the only one   
not about to fall asleep. Not up for pronouncing the spell, Hermione   
pushed the book in front of his face, and pointing to a line of kanji.   
Harry sighed, "'Mione, I can't read this."  
  
"Good," she mumbled, "Draco can survive another night, right? I really   
need some sleep."  
  
"You must be tired, to admit that," Ginny returned, equally as tiredly.   
She'd had even less sleep than her. Draco was her training-partner,   
after all. She'd be glad when things were back to normal-- when they   
could finish training, and be "graduated" to a real Weapon status.   
She'd just love to have a weapon name.   
  
"We're all tired," Harry proclaimed suddenly, "Let's all get off to   
bed, and we can finish up in the morning."  
  
"Right," Sirius nodded, "G'Night Malfoy." they'd taken to calling him   
goodnight when they'd read that he was fully aware the entire time he   
was locked in his mind.  
  
"Night Malfoy," Hermione yawned, stepping out of the room, after   
Sirius, who had shifted into Padfoot.  
  
"Later It," was Weasley's night time call, and she and Hermione   
followed Padfoot back to Gryffindor Tower. Harry paused before moving   
off after them.  
  
"I'll be back," he promised, not feeling the least bit tired. They   
hadn't forgotten to perform the counter runes once, although Hermione   
had probably forgotten why she was preforming them, what with the   
research they'd been doing into Draco's "condition". Fortunately, with   
every time they were cast, Harry felt a bit more power seep through,   
and it revitalized him.   
  
He waited until after Padfoot had fallen asleep at the foot of Ron's   
bed-- a ploy, so that no one realized the dog was really Harry's not   
the second youngest Weasley's-- before slipping out of the Tower and   
heading back towards their secret room.   
  
The white-blonde haired teen was still laying on the couch where Harry   
had set him down those long weeks prior. Harry pulled over the book,   
staring at the words that made no sense to him. However, while they may   
not have made sense of Harry Potter-- Weapon was well versed in the   
language. Wolfos had wanted to cover all bases, and had thus instructed   
the Living Weapon in how to speak, read and write in multiple   
languages.  
  
Harry passed the control over their shared body over to his other half.   
And that other half read the words to himself. For an extra boost in   
power, Weapon withdrew Harry's wand from the sleeve of his robe, and   
whispered the magic words.   
  
He waited, for a good seven minutes, wondering if he'd pronounced it   
incorrectly. Just as he lifted his wand to try again-- maybe throw a   
bad attempt at a Chinese accent, Draco's eyelids twitched.   
  
Weapon released his control, and Harry's lips quirked.   
  
"C'mon Draco, time to wake up."  
  
The boy who'd spent a month comatose groaned, trying to pull himself   
out of the muck and mire of his thoughts. They had spent four weeks   
running around in circles, those thoughts, and he had long since become   
frustrated with the constant argument between he and the Voice.  
  
Although, the Voice had been dubbed 'Hak', simply because Draco was   
getting tired of referring to it as 'the Voice', and had just randomly   
chosen a name.   
  
As he pulled himself out of his thoughts and back into reality, drawn   
free by the smooth tones of his enemy/rival/teacher/friend, he felt   
himself just a little bit more free of the responsibilities that had   
been on his head since prior to his birth. What did he care about them?  
  
He'd never made the decision to abide by them, after all.  
  
"You going to sit there all night with your eyes shut, moron? Or will I   
have to pry 'em open with my fingernails?"  
  
"Keep your robe on," Draco growled; sounding like he'd just woken from   
a two hour nap, and not a four week stint into the realm of the coma.   
When they said suspended animation, they really meant suspended   
animation. Draco seemed perfectly fine, health wise, despite not   
moving, speaking, eating nor drinking for over twenty-eight days.   
  
"Welcome back to Midgard," Potter drawled, rolling his eyes, "Have fun   
in Nifilhelm?"  
  
"If I knew what the hell you were talking about, I'd answer," was the   
tart response, to which the son of James laughed.  
  
"Norse legend, something I was reading up on since the book on Merlin's   
Damned Squiggles happens to be in Old Norse."  
  
Finally, one grey eye cracked open, staring out at the world, "You have   
less of a live than the Mudblood, don't you?"  
  
"I take it you're disappointed with the spell being broken?" taunted   
Harry, smirking as emerald eyes danced mirthlessly. The partial veela   
sat up with a grunt, not used to having a body after a month in the   
dark recesses of his mind.  
  
"Something wrong?"  
  
"Yeah," Harry crossed his arms, "the Old Man cast the spell on you."  
  
"Wolfos!?"   
  
"Yeah, Wolfos," Harry's eyes darkened with fury, lips curling back with   
a snarl, "Only two more weeks, Dragon. Two weeks and then I'm free of   
these goddamned wards."  
  
"Two weeks until you begin to set the Balance in motion?"  
  
While still angry, the comment did do a bit to lighten his mood,   
"Hardly. Daemon's spell put us back in our training. I'll be free to   
change whenever I want, but I want you, Sirius and Virginia as full   
fledged Living Weapons once I begin. You'd never survive otherwise."  
  
"What you're saying is that we're not strong enough, then."  
  
"No," he shook his head, leaning back against the wall to stare up at   
the ceiling, "that's not it at all. What I'm saying is that you three   
still have far to many morals to be able to do what we have to do."  
  
"I've been groomed to become a Deatheater all my life, and you're   
saying I have to many _morals_?" was the dry question.  
  
Harry's lips quirked, "As a matter of fact, yes. We need to get rid of   
that pesky thing known as love. Loyalty is alright, but love...?   
Hardly. Love gets in the way of everything. No love, no problems."  
  
"I don't love anyone," Draco growled angrily, although he was quite   
happy to not have to be running through the argument he and Hak had   
spent the last month going in circles for.  
  
"Ah, but that's where you're wrong. You still care for Lucius and   
Narcissa," Harry's eyes flashed, "and that's a big no-no."  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
I don't really like this chapter... 


	32. Revelations

Slytherin's Angel - You could always tell your mom you're reading up on   
an Anti-establishment plan for gobal nuclear destruction wherein those   
who survived would proclaim themselves gods and repopulate the planet.   
*grins* Who's disagreeing, indeed? Insanity is fun.  
  
Black Rose - The Weapons rock, don't they? I've got the Weapon Name for   
Draco and Virginia, and about three different ones for Sirius, so I'm   
just wondering which one to pick for him ^___^ (Not to mention for   
Riddle. Hmmm...)  
  
Fire-Mage - The only records we've got of the party are the snapshots   
SpongeBob-Girl took before she hid her camera and got piss drunk on us.   
GameFreaks rule!  
  
And because I'm strange like that, don't expect this chapter to have   
gotten to the problem of Wolfos yet. I'm working on that... slowly...   
but Harry's almost out of the wards, and that's what really matters,   
ain't it?  
  
Harry Potter is property of JK Rowling, and whoever she got to publish   
the books.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Thirty-Two: Revelations  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
It was a bit of a surprise to trudge into the room early the next   
morning, with all the intentions of catching a bit more shut-eye before   
going back to work on the wakening-Draco-problem, only to find said   
partial veela and their resident Living Weapon playing around with the   
Power.   
  
The trio stood in the portrait hole, blinking owlishly at the sight of   
the two sixteen year olds tossing a ball of plasma between them like it   
was a baseball. Of course, seeing as only Hermione was muggle-born, the   
other two didn't really think of it as a baseball. Baseball was a   
muggle sport, after all.  
  
In any case, their shock at the sight was short lived, when Harry   
turned his attention away from the other teenager and towards his   
students, "Would you get in here already?"  
  
"Huh?" Virginia muttered intelligently, before realizing that they were   
_Still_ standing in the portrait hole, leaving it open and allowing   
anyone who was passing by to be capable of seeing into the room.   
Flushing, she grabbed Hermione and Sirius' arms, and dragged them into   
the room. Their stumbling as they came through brought both of them   
back to reality, and the pair managed to make the rest of the short   
journey to the chairs by themselves.  
  
Hermione stared at the white-blonde for a moment, "When did you...?"  
  
"Potter brought me out about four hours ago."  
  
"What?!" she bolted to her feet, "Harry! You said you couldn't read   
kanji!"  
  
"And I still can't," he grinned widely, "I never said Weapon couldn't.   
We up for actually attending classes today?"  
  
"Do we have to?" whined Ginny, who'd much rather crash int he room and   
never wake up. Harry rolled his eyes.  
  
"We've been missing for long enough. Besides, it's not like classes   
will actually matter for us in the end. The Balance will insure that   
all will get the positions that they deserve."  
  
"And Harry's going to make you Queen of the World, any ways," Sirius   
and Hermione muttered in eerie unison.  
  
"Oh, right," the redhead grinned widely, and Draco made a note to   
himself that she needed her head shaved again. It was nearly two inches   
long now, and shaggily covered her scalp. Yes, it definitely needed to   
be shaved; the Bald One wasn't allow to have hair, after all.   
  
An amusing image came to his mind, of Ginny, head shaved, wearing a   
crown and sitting on a throne in muggle clothing. Now that would be a   
sight to behold!  
  
"But still... do we have to?"  
  
This time it was Hermione who answered her. Granger's answer should be   
obvious.  
  
---  
  
It was a bit of a quandary; four students, previously deemed missing,   
all of a sudden showing up for class. Where had they been? Each of them   
had separate answers to the question, as well; and from what Albus had   
learned, they kept the answer the same every time they were asked the   
question-- even when they were in the same room!   
  
Granger always responded that she had become so involved in studying   
something that she hadn't even noticed the passage of time.  
  
Weasley only ever said that she'd been "around".  
  
Malfoy's response was that he'd been "somewhere dark".  
  
And Potter? He would smirk and simply tell them that he was dealing   
with a problem of the utmost importance-- and no, they didn't need to   
know what that problem was, only that it had been solved.   
  
Then there was Wolfos' strange attitude; the hardest to figure out, if   
only because Dumbledore had known Wolfos for the majority of the   
younger wizard's life, and knew him so well that there were a good   
dozen reasons the could be behind his reactions. At times, when he   
looked upon Harry, he seemed inordinately proud, like a father looking   
upon his son. At others, he would glare with the utmost hatred and   
loathing in his eyes, a stunning contrast from his prior stares. And   
still other times, he would watch with a calculating eye that had never   
failed to irritate Albus-- whether he showed it or not.  
  
The strange pattern of attitudes was not the only thing on Albus' mind.   
Riddle was on the move, and he was going to do something-- so he   
decided it was time to call a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix.  
  
---  
  
They were gathered around the ceremonial table that had been used for   
generations as their meeting place. Figg, McGonagall, Snape, Moody,   
Fletcher, Lupin and a few others had been all that could gather on such   
short notice. Soon enough Albus entered, followed by the large black   
Grim that was undoubtably Sirius Black.  
  
The Weapon-In-Training grinned roguishly as he shifted back into his   
human form, settling in the seat he'd held since the days he had joined   
the Order alongside Prongs, Moony, and Lily, and wondered briefly if he   
was being treacherous just by being her. That moment of thought passed   
swiftly, as Black reminded himself that he was here for Harry, and   
Harry was all that had mattered to him since the day his parents had   
been killed.  
  
Sirius would do anything for his godson-- including infiltrate the most   
secret organization in the Wizarding World.   
  
So he listened to the members gripe and go on for a good twenty   
minutes, before decided to take things into his own paws-- er, hands.   
He kicked his boots up onto the table and spoke what had been bothering   
him for months now, "What's up with the wards?"  
  
McGonagal, Severus, and Albus suddenly went stiff, but Sirius had   
already guessed they'd been the ones to use Merlin's Runes on binding   
his godson's Power. McGonagal tried to edge her way out of the   
questioning, "What wards would those be, Sirius?"  
  
His eyes flashed, only briefly, with the Power that used his body as a   
conduit, "I mean... why'd you bind up Harry's magic?"  
  
"What?" the other members of the Order leaned forwards, and Lupin   
frowned, "Why didn't I hear anything about this?"  
  
"Now, now," Albus calmed, raising his hands for silence, "We were   
worried that Harry might start delving into the Dark Arts, due to   
his... absence."  
  
"So you wrapped him up in a bunch of wards?" Sirius was careful not to   
let on that he knew exactly what wards were used, and that he knew the   
counter. Not only that, but he kept the knowledge that there was more   
than just a Dark Arts suppression charm on those wards.  
  
"It seemed the most prudent thing to do," Dumbledore nodded with a   
small smile that made everyone want to believe what he said was for the   
best. Unfortunately for the subtle magic Albus unconsciously imposed on   
the others, Sirius was capable of fighting the suggestion off. The   
Power let him feel the ripples in the magic-- not nearly as strong as   
he could feel when another Weapon was using the Power, and more of an   
echo of the actual ripples-- which allowed him to know to keep a shield   
up.   
  
The underdeveloped, uncontrolled version of the Imperius Curse slid off   
his Power-wrought shields, but he kept the same neutral expression on   
his face as he nodded slowly, "So... it's not harming Harry at all?"  
  
"No, of course not," soothed the older man, "He may have lost a small   
part of his magical abilities, but in the end, it is for the best."  
  
A small 'part'?! Sirius seethed mentally, You all but destroyed his   
connection to the Power! If you had one iota of an idea as to how the   
Power affects us, you would have done no such thing!  
  
But, yet again, he pretended to be under the sway of Albus' magic, and   
moved onto the next topic, "Could Voldemort--" he had to restrain a   
grin at the faint-but-still-there winces of his comrades, "-- have his   
powers blocked with these wards?"  
  
And Severus jumped in with a snide, "If we could, don't you think we'd   
have already done so?"  
  
Which sufficiently distracted Sirius as he and Snape got into a   
glaring-sniping-insulting match of immaturity right then and there. The   
rest of the Order ignored them. They'd gotten quite used to how those   
two enjoyed butting heads by this point.  
  
---  
  
A gleeful laugh filled the halls early the next morning as three tired   
teenagers and a large black dog trudged back into Hogwarts. Clothing   
was tattered and torn, beneath the immaculate robes that they'd thrown   
on before entering, faces smeared with blood and dirt, while their hair   
was mussed and tangled. All of them were quite glad to have started   
their training once again.  
  
Muscles were sore from a month of disuse-- one never realized how much   
damage even a month of inaction could do to once's muscles. It had been   
a painful, but enjoyable experience. They could barely wait for the   
next morning as the trio tucked various weapons into their scabbards,   
sheaths, and holsters. It had been a good practice.  
  
They had sweat up a storm even while working outside in the chill and   
snow of December, and stunk to high heaven. Ginny cracked a joke about   
how they'd wake everyone up with their stench if they attempted to use   
the showers in their dorms. The joke led to Draco asserting that he   
_did_ know the directions to the faculty showers, and it was highly   
likely that no one was in them at this time of the day.  
  
As a result, they had commandeered the faculty showers, and scrubbed   
off all the muck and grime and stench. Draco mused, while on his way   
back to the Slytherin dorms all by himself, that had this been before   
his training had begun, before he'd first channeled, he'd have been far   
to embarrassed to do what he just had. Shower in the same room as   
Virginia-- at the same time.  
  
And yet again, he found himself wondering if he was sane at any   
subconscious level. Any sane teenage boy would have been hard just at   
the thought of showering with a girl. Him? He'd showered with her-- and   
Potter, of course-- and still treated Ginny like 'one of the guys'. No   
hormones, no fantasies, no dirty thoughts. Just... showering, like she   
was a sister or something.  
  
Granted, she was a Weasley... but she was still female. There had been   
no reaction. He would have assumed he was homosexual at that, but then   
he had to realize that he'd had no reaction to Potter either. Or any   
male for that matter. He just... didn't seem to think about sexual   
matters unless he was forcing himself to muse upon it.   
  
Ah well, he thought, entering the Slytherin common rooms, what does it   
matter? With Father hanging over my head, I wouldn't have married, or   
dated for that matter, anyone with whom I gave a damn about. It's all   
about continuing the line, wasn't it?  
  
A bit to late, he realized that the rest of the Slytherin sixth and   
seventh years had crowded around him once he'd entered. The flimsy   
little blonde his father wanted him to go out with-- Parkinson-- sidled   
up next to him, "So... did it happen?"  
  
"Did what happen?" he really disliked not being in the know, and it was   
rather obvious from his annoyed tone. He doubted he could ever be like   
Weapon-- monotonous, unemotional... the guy just didn't seem alive.   
Which brought him to wonder if Weapon's true form was a robot-- cyborg   
or something. He'd been brushing up on his knowledge of Muggles thanks   
to being a Weapon.   
  
It never hurt to know everything and anything about one's opponent, and   
he was damned sure that he'd have to deal with muggles at some point or   
another.  
  
There was an exasperated snort from some seventh year. He couldn't   
recall the guy's name off the top of his head; and if he didn't know   
the name, what did this person matter? The seven year snapped out, "Did   
you get initiated?!"  
  
"Initiated into what?" was Draco's equally terse response.  
  
"The Deatheaters!" hissed another seventh year, her eyes darting around   
frantically. Draco gave off a bark of laughter, that surprised all of   
them.  
  
"Why would I do something as bloody _idiotic_ as that?" at their   
incredulous faces, he had to laugh again. He knew damn well everyone   
had expected him to become a deatheater-- it had been his plan, after   
all, right up until he'd been offered to be trained as a Living Weapon,   
"All Deatheaters will be wiped out when the Balance is brought about,"   
he continued, grinning nastily at their faces, "All of Voldemort's   
followers will be destroyed."  
  
"What?!" seethed Parkinson, "You can't be serious nothing can beat   
our--"  
  
"You didn't let me finish," Draco purred, "All of Riddle's people will   
die. All of Dumbledore's people will die. A new world will be born in   
their wake," and here, he laughed loudly, manically, and with no little   
insanity, "And I will be there, standing in the ruins, a god amongst   
men!"  
  
He continued laughing as he returned to his dorm to change out of the   
tattered and ruined clothing he wore beneath his robes, leaving stunned   
Slytherin's behind him. It would be a good twenty minutes before any of   
them broke out of their shock, and Draco would be long gone.  
  
They didn't know if they should just consider him stark raving bonkers,   
or take his words to heart. The wrong choice could always get them   
killed. The right could just quite make them strong enough to survive   
whatever was coming.  
  
It was all a matter of choice, in the end.  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Draco seems a bit more off his rocker, I hope. Well, he did proclaim   
himself a "god among men"... 


	33. Plans

Does anyone else have friends that call at midnight, just to see if   
you've finished with the DVDs they'd lent you??  
  
howling wolf - Bingo! He's not qute fully insane yet, but he's a lot   
closer than he was before.   
  
We all know Harry Potter doesn't belong to the Itch by now, right?  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Thirty-three: Plans  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
Yuletide Holidays.   
  
Normally, the students of Hogwarts were excited and oh-so-pleased for   
the break in classes, for the upcoming getting of presents, and the   
fact that the holidays meant the year was half over already.  
  
Four students were not-so happy with the fact that the holidays were   
rolling around. Well, Draco was certainly glad that he wasn't going   
home this Winter Solstice-- he wouldn't have to deal with Lucius.   
Unfortunately, the reason he was remaining at the school this year was   
to catch up on the month of classes he'd missed. The Professors weren't   
to pleased with this either, having had their break taken away from the   
four students who'd disappeared for four weeks.  
  
And now they had a two week break to teach the quartet everything   
they'd missed.  
  
For this oh-so-special occasion, Professor Dumbledore was either being   
very intelligent, or very sadistic. Depended on whom you happened to   
ask. Each day would be spent with a different teacher. Of course, this   
also meant that each day would be spent in entirety with one teacher.  
  
Albus had decided they needed to do their Potions classes first.  
  
The day following the majority of the students heading home to their   
families, found the intrepid group of Draco, Harry, Virginia and   
Hermione trudging into the Potions classroom, to see a fiercely   
scowling Severus Snape. The three Weapons were a bit more tired than   
they let on, having spent the majority of the night retraining their   
bodies, as they had since Draco had awoken. Hermione had woken extra   
early in order to trace the counter runes over Harry's wards, without   
getting caught by a Professor.  
  
She'd finally decided to just go along with Harry, like she'd always   
done. Sure, they'd had some dangerous adventures, but he'd never really   
led her wrong before. She'd stick by her friend.  
  
In any case, four sullen and tired youths entered the room, settling   
into their chairs and wondering what was going to happen. Ginny _Was_ a   
year younger than them, but they really couldn't see Severus as   
teaching her alone. There was a few moments of silence, then Snape   
sneered, "Miss Weasley."  
  
Virginia looked up, trying to make the fact that she had one hand   
tucked into her robes and was fingering the smooth metal of the grip of   
one of her .9mm guns as non-visible as possible, "...Sir?"  
  
"You will be joining your _friends_," again, sneered, although there   
was a bit of a curious look towards Draco, as if wondering why the   
pale-skinned teenager was even bothering to sit near the others, "in   
your lessons for today. You will be learning sixth year curriculum, and   
you _will_not_ complain."  
  
"Of course, Professor," she muttered half-heartedly, withdrawing her   
hand from the gun. She had really wanted him to do something stupid,   
just so she could have an excuse to use it. Not that being a Weapon   
made her violent, or anything, she just did not like the professor all   
that much.  
  
"Good," he glared her down a bit more, then returned to facing the   
other three, "I don't know, nor care where you four have been. We will   
begin with a Age Deceleration Potion..."  
  
---  
  
The seven or eight students in the Great Hall come lunch time quieted   
down almost immediately as soon as the doors swung open. Two annoyed,   
and two amused students stalked in, dressed in robes splattered with   
Potions ingredients. The quartet settled at the single table left in   
the hall for the remaining students, such that Hermione and Virginia   
sat across from each other, and Draco and Harry sat across from each   
other. Draco sat beside Hermione only because Hermione didn't want to   
know what Ginny and Draco would do to each other if they were seated   
side-by-side.  
  
Not that seating Harry and Draco across from each other was all that   
intelligent of a move, either. To the stunned gazes of the nervous   
onlookers, the two boys used one hand to eat their lunches, while they   
used their butter knives to duel one another across the table. It was a   
unique experience, that ended all too soon, as they finished up their   
meals, and the two girls with them, hauled the pair away from the table   
and back towards the Potions classroom, where they would spend the   
intervening hours between then and dinner.  
  
It didn't really stop the boys from dueling with their butter knives,   
it just meant that the other students didn't get to see it since they   
were out the doors.   
  
Of course, to the watchers' surprise, when the quartet returned for   
supper those hours later, they were still going at each other with the   
knives, leaving them to wonder if they'd even paused during their   
make-up lessons. Then they'd think on who the four had to deal with   
that day, and decided that if they hadn't, they were probably going to   
be in detention into eternity-- or, at least, Potter was going to be.  
  
They sat in the same places as they did at lunch, and finally, an   
exasperated Hermione grabbed both of their wrists, halting the   
movement, while Virginia nearly fell out of her chair, laughing. The   
muggle-born witch growled, "Cut it out! I've had enough of watching you   
two go at each other--"  
  
"C'mon 'Mione, it's just practice..."  
  
"--I don't care! Harry, I know you..." she trailed off as she realized   
her voice had gotten a bit loud, and she ducked her head to hide her   
blush from the watching students, and hissed to her friend, "I know you   
want practice for your Balance-thing, but at the dinner table? For   
Mer-- God's sake, Harry! You might not even get a chance to put all   
your plans into motion if you screw up right now, and _show_ everyone   
what you're capable of!"  
  
He blinked owlishly at her for a few minutes then laughed a bit   
nervously, "You know, I never thought about it that way."  
  
"I know," she groused, "Why do you think I pointed it out?"  
  
Draco snickered, and opened his hand to drop his butter knife,   
"Alright, Granger. Now that that's out of the way... What are we going   
to do tonight?"  
  
"We're supposed to head back for another two hours of work with Snape,"   
Virginia muttered, casting a sour glance at said Potions Professor, who   
was seated at the staff table up front, "After that...?" she shrugged.  
  
Hermione leaned back in her seat, glancing around the room, noting who   
was there, and who wasn't, "We should contact Ron."  
  
"Huh?" Ginny frowned, "Why? What's my idiot brother got to do with   
anything?"  
  
"We should at least let him know that he's welcome to help us," the   
genius muttered, "He's still my friend, and I'd hate to have him find   
out that he's not on the same side as us..."  
  
"We are not a 'side'," Weapon intoned, and the others turned to look at   
him, "We do the will of the Power, we enforce the Balance, but we are   
not a 'side'. If the Power bids us to do what they call 'good', we will   
abide by the rules of Light. If the Power bids us to do what is   
considered 'evil', we will do that as well. That is what it means to be   
an operative of the Balance."  
  
The bushy haired Gryffindor nodded, "I know, I know. You've told me   
that before. What I meant was that I don't want to have to hurt him,   
because he doesn't realize that he is against... the Balance."  
  
"You liiiiiiike him," trilled Ginny, "You've got a crush on my brother,   
don't you!"  
  
"Ginny!" she scowled, "I do not! He's my best friend... and yeah, I   
liked him... _last_ year! It's the same as when you stopped crushing on   
Harry!"  
  
Virginia laughed, "Maybe, maybe not. Well, we'll talk to Ron. Any other   
ideas for tonight?"  
  
"Practice," came the stereo response from Draco and Weapon. Draco   
leaned forwards, "I want to become one of the..." he trailed off, eyes   
glazing over as Hak whispered something to him, then whirling to glare   
angrily at a Ravenclaw fifth year who was leaning towards them in an   
attempt to 'accidentally' overhear their conversation. At the frosty   
look, he jumped back a bit guiltily, and turned back to his meal.   
  
Draco lowered his voice, "Right, I want to become one as soon as I   
possibly can. Harry's wards'll be coming off in less than two weeks."  
  
"I will be most pleased with that," Weapon spoke in his normal   
monotone, "Being restricted to this human form is truly disturbing."  
  
"Disturbing?" Hermione looked curious; she'd never heard any of the   
others refer to remaining in their human forms as 'disturbing'. A quick   
glance at the other two revealed that they, too, had not considered it   
disturbing before.  
  
"Yes," he gave a slow nod, "As one of the Weapons, my natural form is   
non-human. It may be humanoid, but it is not human. To remain locked in   
this form is constricting, and should it last much longer, I may become   
physically ill."  
  
"What?!" Ginny yelped, staring at him, "Why?!"  
  
"It is unhealthy for one such as I to remain in a form to small for my   
strength and abilities. The Power can not flow through me unrestricted   
as it is meant to while I am forced to remain in this body."  
  
They blinked at his words, then shook their heads as one. Leave it to   
Weapon to speak perfectly properly, when Harry couldn't even string two   
sentences together without sounding completely deranged. It led one to   
wonder if Harry and Weapon were really two separate souls, or just   
split personalities.   
  
A question to be answered another day, as they noted Professor Snape   
standing from his seat and glaring at them in a way that obviously   
meant for them to come, and if they didn't, they would be seriously   
hurt. Or, at the very least, in detention for a month.   
  
Sighing, they got up and trudged out of the hall, back towards the   
dungeons. The only good thing about this was that they were getting   
Potions out of the way first. Tomorrow would be Transfiguration. Draco   
really did not want to deal with Professor McGonagal.  
  
Just because she wasn't obvious about it, she still favored Gryffindor   
above Slytherin, and had taken to finding the smallest of legimate   
excuses to remove points from the House.   
  
So, thinking on neither Potions, nor Transfiguration, the group made   
their way to the classroom, and prepared for another two hours of work.   
Already, plans were in the works-- both for practice later that night,   
and for the revealing of the Balance and subsequently, the Living   
Weapons, to the Wizarding World.  
  
Harry's lips quirked as he and Draco went to work at the next potion   
assigned. Yes, plans were being made, and current events were holding   
steadily to his hopes. Everything would be perfect. So the problem with   
Draco set them back a bit, but it had revealed a chink in their armor.   
They were not infallible.  
  
As was obvious by Daemen's mistake in trying to force the group apart.   
The DADA professor would be getting quite the beating, just for the   
attempt. Should he try again... well, Harry may have considering him a   
father of sorts, but he was not adverse to permanently harming the man,   
should he harm one of his students.  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
S'probably a bit shorter than my latest chapters, but I just couldn't   
force it to go on any further without getting overly repetitive and   
boring.   
  
Yeah, that's right, pretty quick here, you'll be finding out what   
Weapon looks like. Happy days, right? 


	34. Advancing

Er, sorry about this is a bit late! I was at another party last night.   
It was just a small animethon/party deal, consisting of me, Leigh,   
Silent Dragon, Leigh's "M-sama", Kris, Ali, and Greek Fate. Ali, M-sama   
and I ended up passed out in the living room, while everyone else went   
home ^o^;;  
  
Applestraw - *stares at you for several minutes* ... er... here's   
more...  
  
xticy - Wow, you never review, but you reviewed my fic? That's so nice   
^____^  
  
howling wolf - I have evil plans for Wolfos, mwahahahahaha.   
  
Black Rose - You're Welcome ^__^ You're a very hyper person, no??  
  
Shila - I couldn't remember your quote off the top of my head, so it's   
not in this chapter. I'll try for next chapter. :D  
  
Soulless - And I thought I had problems when I checked a story every   
six hours! *laughs* I'm glad you like it enough to check every hour for   
a new chapter. You'd become a Weapon for me? Wheee! My own Weapon!   
*grins*   
  
We all know the disclaimer by now, right? Right??  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Thirty Four: Advancing  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
  
The clash of metal on metal yanked Ron from his thoughts as Hermione   
lead him through the Hogwarts ground to the Quidditch Pitch early the   
morning following Harry and Draco's butter knife-fight. The youngest of   
the male Weasleys turned his attention to the center of the pitch, and   
nearly froze in shock.   
  
Draco and Virginia leapt apart, Ginny swinging her Amazon Battle   
Staff-- currently shaped into a massive double-handed broadsword that   
she was using one handed-- up onto her shoulder, bracing it against her   
neck and grinning widely. Her inch long hair waving in spiky chunks   
around her face, eyes glinting with gleeful amusement. She was dressed   
in a pair of white muggle shorts that were a bit loose, and belted   
around the hips, as well as a silver muggle sleeveless top with a   
zipper down the front that fit snugly against her throat.  
  
Malfoy fell back into his own defensive stance, a pair of Katar in   
hand, their wicked blades gleaming death. He, too, was dressed as a   
muggle, his black jeans cutting off messily just above his black hiking   
boots, a black t-shirt with red trim hugging his torso.   
  
Both he and Virginia had weapons holsters, sheaths and scabbards   
strapped wherever one could be strapped.   
  
The stunned redhead could only gap in surprise as the two circled each   
other, and he realized that both were decorated in lacerations--   
bleeding lacerations. Hermione guided him carefully out of the   
combatants' way, should the pair start really going at it.  
  
"Well," Ron heard his sister laugh, "You certainly haven't lost your   
edge."  
  
"Glad to hear that," Malfoy mused, "I was so sure that I'd have lost it   
with that month of no-practice."  
  
"Let's see if your stamina is as good as your skill!" she roared,   
swinging the blade off her shoulder, lunging at Draco. Lucius' son   
pushed off the ground, feet smacking solidly against the blade as he   
came down, and then pushed off again. Ginny had twisted the sword,   
yanking it upwards, even as the massive blade shifted into a smaller,   
single-handed long sword, in an attempt to skewer Malfoy on it's tip.   
  
She just barely managed to move the sword from offensive to defensive,   
halting Draco's vicious attack with his Katar, his newest weapon.   
Throwing one of the Katar off his hand, the triangle shaped blade   
sliced into the earth before coming to a halt at Hermione's feet. He   
withdrew one of the Stallion Blades, splitting his attention between   
the fight and Hak.  
  
Virginia growled low in her throat, the long sword shifting into a   
shield. As she blocked his strikes with both enchanted Stallion Blade,   
and the single Katar that remained, she yanked one of her .9mm from her   
pocket. It wasn't truly in her pocket, but strapped to her thigh, the   
pocket itself having been removed in order to create a way to easily   
withdraw her weapons.  
  
Guns! Hak hissed into Draco's ear, and the boy did a hand-less back   
flip several paces back, and to the side, not want to have to feel the   
sensation of being shot point-blank. It hurt like a bitch, and he was   
positive that more than once, if it hadn't been for Potter the shots   
would have killed him.   
  
A clip ran out of bullets as Ginny opened fire as Draco fled, cutting   
through the flesh of a shoulder, and his right hip. She tossed the gun   
to the side, yanking the other .9mm out of her other pocket, and   
pressing it to the pale boy's right temple as he lay on the ground,   
glaring up at her. She smiled ruthlessly.  
  
Ron was wide-eyed, wondering if Hermione had brought him out here to   
witness his sister murdering Draco Malfoy-- when slow clapping caught   
both his attention, and the attention of the two combatants. The second   
youngest Weasley gave Harry Potter a look of stunned surprise as he   
melted out of the shadows, walking towards his sister and the person   
he, personally considered an enemy.  
  
"Very well executed," this silver-eyed version of his   
once-and-still-sort-of friend called in a perfectly emotionless voice,   
"You are both skilled in your techniques, although you must work on   
your endurance, Draco, and you must stop solving everything with   
bullets, Virginia. There may come a time when you are in such a   
situation that there is neither time to manually change clips, nor time   
to change them with magic or the Power."  
  
"Sir," the two muttered with slow nods, and the silver-eyed, chillingly   
emotionless Harry James Potter, knelt before both of them, reaching out   
with the Power that he had command over, and forcing the bodies of his   
students to mend. Then he stood, and looked to the shadows where   
Hermione and Ron watched.  
  
"Ah, good, you brought him."  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes, "I told you I would, Weapon. Where's Sirius?"  
  
Harry pointed straight up, and she tilted her head back. At the sight   
of the full moon, she nodded, "I forgot."  
  
Ron finally managed to find his mouth, "What's going on here?!"  
  
---  
  
Riddle crossed his arms, staring blankly into his fireplace, wondering.   
The flames said that something was coming, something was going to   
happen. Soon. But what could it be?  
  
What could possibly throw the Power into such disarray that at the same   
time it was both joyous and fearful.   
  
It would seem strange, to anyone other than a Living Weapon that   
something that is inherently energy could feel emotions. However, Tom   
was a Weapon, and he understood full well that the Power was a living   
being, of a sort. A conscious energy that could guide its users from   
behind the scenes.  
  
Unfortunately, it seemed that the part of the Power that Lord Voldemort   
had control over, did not know what was to happen. His fingers   
clenched, and he grit his teeth.  
  
He'd have to go torture some muggles to take his mind off the problem.  
  
---  
  
The Living Weapon known only as Katar shifted in his guard position   
beside his Master's chair. Katar had never so much as blinked while he   
was considered "on duty", so a shift of movement was both something   
unprecedented, and something to be looked into. His Master turned to   
face him.  
  
"Katar? Is something wrong?"  
  
The glassy-eyed redhead blinked slowly, as if coming out of a trance.   
To Cornelius Fudge's shock, he saw the glint of intelligence enter the   
eyes of what he had assumed was a wizard with mental defects. He'd   
"had" Katar for twelve years by that point, and not once had he seen   
anything even approaching a child's level of intelligence. The glaze   
over those chilling, blood red eyes faded, leaving the narrowed,   
angular face of the Living Weapon curved into a sadistic smirk.  
  
Katar had been a muggle before his transformation into a second   
generation Living Weapon, against his will, those long years ago. While   
he had been in Fudge's "employment"-- which could not be considered   
employment, since Fudge only gave him a place to stay and the minium   
amount of food he could get away with, as long as he did whatever Fudge   
told him to do-- he had not be able to access control of his own   
movements, his own motions.   
  
But something had changed-- something _was_ changing. Something big.   
Something big enough that the Power was reacting in new ways, unusual   
ways.   
  
"Not at all," hissed the blood-eyed, blood-haired man, and Fudge   
shivered in his chair. There was infliction, tone, attitude--   
_emotion_-- in Katar's words, something he had never had before. An   
insidious chuckle built in the man's throat, "Nothing is wrong at   
all..."  
  
"K-k-k-Katar?!"  
  
Still, the laughter built, "Everything is fine... The Balance is   
Coming..."  
  
"Th-the Balance?" squeaked the Minister, "Wh-what is th-the   
ba-balance?"  
  
That chilling smirk was turned to the head of the Ministry of Magic,   
"It is the New World," he mused, running claw-like fingernails down his   
face, and his neck, coming to a halt on the control collar that had   
been placed around his neck when he'd finally managed to channel the   
Power, and it had changed him. It had locked his sense of self away,   
and made him a marionette.  
  
But now he was free to control _it_. The collar was a symbol of his   
previous ownership. He would not be owned. He would join with his   
brothers and sisters, the other Second Generation Living Weapons, and   
he would help them. He would not be controlled by an outside source,   
ever again.  
  
Fudge had not bothered to remove the collar in all the years he'd had   
Katar in his so-called service. If Katar wanted it removed, he'd remove   
it, right? And Katar wanted it gone, and he wanted it gone _now_. His   
fingers dug into his throat, under the collar, and with all the   
strength he could command, he ripped it form his throat.  
  
Cornelius pissed his pants as Katar's body swelled from a whipcord thin   
five nothing, to a six nothing version of himself with twice the muscle   
mass. His wild mane of blood red hair, that had once fallen into his   
eyes, and framed his face in controllable locks began to lick at his   
cheeks, moving like living fire.   
  
An apt description as the robes Fudge had given him to dress in burned   
away. The decade and a half old muggle t-shirt he'd worn since the day   
following his original channeling burned away as well, revealing the   
thick black tribal tattoo on his back that mimicked the shape of a   
burning phoenix. And from the wings of the tattoo, fire began to   
flicker extending outwards and then wrapping around his body, like a   
thick cloak.  
  
He purred in the back of his throat as his eye-teeth extended into   
vicious fangs, and from his shoulders a set of blood-red horns curled   
outwards. Licking his lips, he turned back to Fudge, and cupped the   
cheek of the man who had owned him for the past decade. He leaned   
forwards, so cat-slit ruby irises were all Fudge could see.  
  
"I won't kill you now," he mused, "I will leave that for the day of the   
planet's rebirth. We will have so much fun..." patting the stunned   
minister on the cheek, he glided over to the window of the Minister's   
office, and placed his hand against the glass. Fudge's mouth went dry   
as the glass seemed to... to _melt_ and be absorbed by Katar.   
  
The Living Weapon laughed gleefully as he shot out of the window,   
slamming into the road below, and sprinted off in the direction of   
Scotland. He could feel the most powerful of his brothers and sisters   
in that direction. He did not know who they were, or whether they had   
control of themselves or not. If they did, good. If they didn't, he   
would free them. Having spent over a decade in that state, he refused   
to allow any other Weapon to have to deal with that.  
  
He didn't give a damn who saw him as he ran. All he cared about was   
instigating the Balance. It was coming. It would happen soon. He could   
feel it, taste it, breath it. And he would be there. _He_ would be in   
control of those that had once controlled him!  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Katar is, like Daemen, actually from my novel. He's a bit of a   
psychopath, but his loyalty is to Weapon and no other. If Weapon   
commands him to kill other Living Weapons, Katar will do so.   
  
I felt like he'd be fun to introduce. But he _does_ actually have a   
point in Blackened Sunrise. You just aren't going to find out what it   
is yet, although, some of you can probably guess what it is already   
^___^ 


	35. New Years

Floramorada - Addicting? Ouuu, that's a new description. I like it ^__^  
  
Black Rose - We should be getting at least one Weapon Name... Next   
Chapter! Celebration time!   
  
Kennan - I'm glad you like Katar. I wasn't sure if he'd be well   
accepted; it a bit hard to work him into Blackened Sunrise, while   
keeping with the personality he has in my novel.  
  
Masrchild - No need to be ashamed of being hyper. Just look at Black   
Rose. *grins* Harry with a snake would be very cool (I am obsessed with   
snakes ^__^) and he may pick one up somewhere along the way, but right   
now the snakes in the fic are Nagini and Rilos. Never mind the fact   
that Rilos is a stuffed animal...  
  
Do I really have to write the disclaimer for the thirty-fourth time?  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Thirty-Five : New Years  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
Ron Weasley stared at the canopy of his bed, biting his lip. It was New   
Years Eve, and in the next thirty minutes, it would be January First.   
But he couldn't think about that.   
  
All that was going though his mind was what Harry, Hermione, Ginny and   
Malfoy had told him over a week earlier. About Harry and the Living   
Weapons, about the Balance, and about what was to come.  
  
"Good... evil... There are no such things. They are creations of man's   
mind. They are the children of Order, brought to categorize and file   
the Entropy that is all. I am a creature of Chaos, and fight for the   
freedom of Entropy. I am neither good, nor evil. I am above good and   
evil. I am above Order. I am above all. I am Chaos.""  
  
"Do you understand that, Ron?" Ginny had asked, tilting her head to one   
side, "Do you understand what we're asking you?"  
  
He had shook his head, and the others sighed, exasperated. Harry had   
dropped a hand on his shoulder, and Ron had found himself staring into   
psychotic emerald eyes. Harry had offered a faint smirk, "You better   
figure it out by New Years Day, Ron."  
  
But he hadn't. He was still confused. This was going against everything   
he'd ever learned. And he had only half an hour to make a decision.   
Sweet Merlin! Why did this have to be so infuriating?  
  
---  
  
Katar stared at the lake that was between him and the castle that   
housed one of his brethren, and three in training. His lips quirked as   
he rolled his shoulders, "New Years... a time of new beginnings..."  
  
With a mental command, the fiery cloak that had been draped around his   
shoulders pulled back, flaring around him, extending and attaching to   
the horns that protruded from his shoulders. He spread his arm, the   
very tips of his cloak seemingly melting into his skin, before he   
launched himself into the air, and began his glide towards the castle.   
  
Physically speaking, it should not have been even possible. However,   
the Power had a tendency to be capable of pulling off the unbelievable.   
Katar was close. Katar would finally be truly free.  
  
---  
  
The Great Hall was empty. Or, at least, a massive glamour had been cast   
to make it appear to be so. The small group of students that had   
remained for the holidays were having a party in one of the classrooms,   
as there was no reason to hold one in the large Great Hall.  
  
Which meant it was free to be used by a small group of five.  
  
Weapon sat, perfectly motionless in the center of the circle, Sirius   
seated directly East, Virginia directly South, and Draco directly North   
of him. Hermione was sitting on top of the staff table at the front of   
the room, wondering what, exactly was about to happen. Both Harry and   
Weapon had confirmed that the ceremony would have to take place at   
exactly midnight, to ensure that everyone was busy, that no one would   
come until it was too late. There was only ten minutes to go, and they   
were still missing someone to sit in the West.   
  
Weapon had refused her entrance into the circle. She was there to   
observe, there to record the elevation of three Weapons-In-Training, to   
Living Weapon. It was to be a momentous occasion, she knew. And she   
knew Weapon was proud of them, even if his emotions would not reach his   
face. The three who had been training had gotten next to no sleep--   
only sleeping during mealtime-- over the weeks since they had pulled   
Ron to one side and told him what was happening. The memory of it   
flickered in her mind, and she took hold of it.  
  
She could still feel the chill of the December air, still feel the   
biting wind that had caused Sirius to slip from the shadows and erect a   
shield to prevent them from feeling the effects of nature. Ron had   
watched his sister retrieve her weapons, watched as Draco swiped blood   
from his katar and the Stallion Blades, carefully hiding both on his   
person, and drawing his robes back around his body. Harry's chilling   
eyes had finally turned to Ron.  
  
She'd felt him shiver under the hand she'd placed on his shoulder.   
Seeing Weapon face-to-face for the first time was always a shock to the   
system. Then Weapon had spoken in that monotonous voice, cutting off   
all of Ron's protests before three words made their way out of his   
mouth.   
  
Ron's questions had been obvious, and Harry's answers simple:   
  
Have you gone Dark? No.   
  
Why is Malfoy here? He is my student.   
  
Why is Ginny here? She is my student.  
  
And Sirius? Fixing his attempts to train.  
  
What are you training them in? Fighting.  
  
Why? For the Balance.  
  
What's the Balance? The New World.  
  
Are you insane? Quite.  
  
There had been more to it than that-- but they were only lucky that Ron   
was so tired, and hadn't been able to make very much of a scene.   
Hermione had guided him to bed, then hovered around him for the rest of   
the night. When she had classes, Sirius would be there, both training   
in using the Power, and keeping an eye out on him. If he ever looked   
like he was about to tell a teacher, they stopped him.   
  
They wanted him to make this choice without influence from any of the   
teachers, who would all defer to Dumbledore and do whatever he asked   
them too.  
  
Her mind snapped back to the present, when the doors slid open and Ron   
skittered into the Great Hall. He opened his mouth, about to say   
something, but shut up when Hermione waved him over to her side, almost   
frantically. He was careful not to get to close to the apparently   
meditating people on the floor, climbing up onto the table beside   
Granger.  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"Weapon is going to run them through the Challenge."  
  
"The Challenge?" he gave her a confused look, "What's the Challenge?"  
  
"It's when someone who has training in what they call 'The Power', goes   
through a psychological examination of some sort. Once done, they will   
have full access to The Power, and will be granted their Weapon Name,"   
she cupped her chin with one hand, "Harry said that it only takes a few   
seconds, although those in the Challenge can spend what feels like up   
to twenty years in their own mind."  
  
"What's a 'Weapon Name'?" he wondered, still looking on the silent,   
unmoving circle in some confusion. Hermione was about to open her mouth   
and respond, when the Great Hall's doors opened once more. And this   
time to admit someone none of them recognized.  
  
Blood red hair, that fell shaggily around his head to his shoulders,   
ruby eyes that literally glowed with the power, darkly tanned skin   
contrasting with the brilliant orange of the sheet of flame that   
wrapped around his body, and skittered across the floor leaving burn   
trails. He had a thick red horn extending a good foot from each   
shoulder.   
  
He looked upon the circle, then settled himself into the seat of the   
West, closing his eyes and joining the circle of The Power that would   
send the other three directions into the Challenge.   
  
And then the clock struck midnight, and the two full-fledged weapons   
struck out with their connections to the Power. The three Weapons-to-be   
collapsed to the floor with a sickening crack, and Ron shouted his   
sister's name.  
  
The girl beside him grabbed his shoulders, preventing him from even   
leaving the table, before she whispered a locking charm to keep the   
doors of the hall closed, no matter what happened.   
  
Once the Challenge was completed, she would cast the very last counter   
runes, and free Harry from his professor-created prison. The Weapons   
would be given free reign to do what they wanted. She was counting on   
her help having proven that she was, indeed, to be trusted. That she   
would be able to remain friends with them, even after the creation of   
their much vaunted Balance.  
  
---  
  
Lucius Malfoy jerked violently, gasping as he found the discreet   
connection he'd created upon his son's birth being shattered by some   
higher power. Anything less than Lord Voldemort's own level of power   
would be unable to sever the link that had been cast by Lucius and   
backed by Riddle himself. Draco was born to be a death eater, and that   
connection had been subtly used to control his son enough for the boy   
to think that it was his own will that caused him to obey his father's   
master.  
  
Lord Voldemort watched, mirthless, as Lucius spasmed, already knowing   
what had happened. He had kept the information of Draco having   
undergone the training to be a Living Weapon from the boy's father, in   
the hopes that Draco would replace his own, now dead, Second Generation   
Weapon. He'd been using her as a battery, to boost his own strength,   
and had accidentally drained her completely dry.  
  
Now, Draco was undergoing the Challenge. It was likely those others at   
the school who had been undergoing Weapon's training would also be   
taking the Challenge.   
  
Thank whoever helped Dark Lords that Harry Potter hadn't been chosen to   
be one of the Living Weapons.  
  
Obviously, Riddle had no idea that Harry was already one of them.  
  
---  
  
Harry stood with Weapon on his left, and the Living Weapon Katar on his   
right, in the mental space provided by the Power, where they would meet   
the three who were preforming the Challenge. The green eyed youth   
finally turned to the unknown, while Weapon continued to stare out into   
the mental blackness for sight of his students.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
The red-eyed red-haired one tilted his head to look down on the smaller   
youth. If it weren't for those far to brilliant green eyes, Katar would   
have thought this boy was a mere human. If it weren't for the fact that   
it was obvious Weapon and the boy were the same being, he wouldn't have   
bothered answering him. But this fact he knew, and crossed his arms,   
staring down at him, "I am Katar."  
  
"The Missing Weapon," Harry mused with some surprise. All the Living   
Weapons knew of Katar. He'd been created nearly two decades earlier,   
and had spent the first seven years in the employment of one of the   
First Generation Weapons. However, when that Weapon was killed, Katar   
had been transferred to another First Generation-- and never made it.   
He had just... vanished.   
  
Katar raised a red eyebrow, "The 'Missing' Weapon? Is that what they   
call me?"  
  
"Yes," the younger Weapon let his lips twitch with a smirk, "No one   
knew where you were."  
  
"Cornelius Fudge... retrieved me from the wreak twelve years ago."  
  
Harry gave a bark of laughter, "I feel sorry for you, having to deal   
with that bumbling idiot for so long."  
  
He nodded slowly, then looked towards Weapon, "Why are their two of   
you?"  
  
Harry shrugged, "Because there are. We thought that it was 'cause I   
first accessed the Power when I was a year old."  
  
Katar's eyes widened, his mouth going dry. But... that should be   
impossible! No child younger than six could possibly have enough   
negative experience to be able to access the Power. Determination set   
his features, "Harry. Weapon. I--"  
  
"Sirius approaches," Weapon interrupted Katar, raised a claw-tipped   
hand to point at the shadow in coming from East of their current   
position. Harry and Katar grinned-- Harry's no little bit psychotic,   
and Katar's no small amount malicious-- as they awaited the new   
Weapon's appearance.  
  
Neither could wait until they could learn his Weapon Name.  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Yeah, I'm mean, cutting it off right there ^_____^ 


	36. Named

Sorry about this not going up this morning-- FF.net wouldn't let me log  
in.   
  
I wish I knew how long this fic was going to be... ^___^ As for   
information on my novel-- since you all seem to want to read it I'll be   
sure to inform you when it comes out. I've just hit a bit of a   
stumbling block at the moment, so I need to think my way around it.   
  
Fire-Mage - I always like your reviews. They're funny ^_^ Death and   
destruction coming soon, within the next couple weeks (I hope). You go  
back tommarrow? *whines* You so lucky. I had to go back today...   
  
katrina - The silver-eyed wraith is only part of the transformation. I   
just want to make you guys wait and wait and wait until you can see   
Weapon in his full glory. Ehehehehehehe.  
  
Black Rose - Near death? Aiyah! Go thing we've got a Weapon Name in   
this chapter, no?  
  
Kennan - Actually Draco was first. But it's alright that you forgot. I   
wrote that a long while ago.  
  
Marschild - *falls over laughing*  
  
Soulless - Harry and Katar Voodoo dolls? Wow, I never thought those   
would actually sell. *big cheesy grin, while standing in front of a   
truckload of Harry & Katar merchandise.*  
  
Steph - You really need to lay off on the coffee... Obeying now, new   
chapter!  
  
Shila - I said I would, didn't I?  
  
SaGGiTaRiuS000 - Do you take this fanfic to be your lawfully wedded...   
er... lawfully wedded story?  
  
miss-magic - I'll try. I'm coming up on diploma exams so I have to cut  
back on all my extra stuff. Blackened Sunrise isn't going to get cut   
back though-- I believe we all know when I write by now.   
  
I've said it thirty-three times already, but... I don't own Harry   
Potter.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Thirty Six : Named  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
Blackness crowded in on his vision for a moment, and then Sirius was   
standing in the scene of the majority of his nightmares for the past   
fifteen years: Godric's Hollow, the night he told James to switch   
Secret Keepers to Peter Pettigrew.  
  
Why would the Power bring him here to preform the Challenge?  
  
Then again, Harry never had actually explained exactly what happened   
during the Challenge. Maybe he just had to relive his worst memories?   
He'd done that often enough while in Azkaban; this would be a breeze.  
  
As usual, he drifted forwards, placing his hand on the doorknob of the   
home, preparing to open the door-- when his hand passed through it.   
That had certainly never happened in any of his nightmares!  
  
A bit more wary, Black pushed his hand right through the door, and then   
drifted inside, deeming it safe. The scene within... was not one he had   
expected to come across. It was not the scene he remembered; not at   
all.   
  
In his memories, Lily was cradling Harry in her arms, talking with   
James and himself. What he saw was Lily holding a child-- but with red   
hair not unlike her own, and milky blue eyes. James was leaning across   
the table to where Lily sat... beside a younger version of himself.   
  
"What the...?"  
  
At his words, the scene seemed to unfreeze, and James began speaking   
the very words Sirius himself could remember telling the Potters all   
those years earlier.  
  
"I'm too obvious a Secret Keeper, Padfoot!" he was arguing, "Use   
someone else, someone who can hide away while I'm chased across the   
countryside!"  
  
"But who, James?" Lily rocked the child gently, leaning her head on the   
younger Padfoot's shoulder, "You wouldn't have come to us with this if   
you didn't already have someone in mind."  
  
"Peter," James nodded with a grin, "He's the perfect Secret Keeper--   
he's one of us!"  
  
Oh yes, Sirius could well remember that conversation, even if he and   
James' positions had been switched. It was... creepy, to say the least.   
Shaking his head, he was about to step closer when there was a   
deviation to what he remembered happening.   
  
Moony trudged down the stairs with a yawn, the wearied sag to his   
shoulders and head indicating that he'd recently been through his   
transformation. Sirius was utterly and completely confused. He did   
_not_ remember Moony having been there...  
  
"What are you three plotting now?" the werewolf wondered, plopping   
himself into a chair at the table and scratching behind one ear. The   
three looked between each other and grinned a bit nervously.  
  
"Nothing Padfoot," the trio chimed, before moving onto such topics as   
had 'Marron' started walking yet and if he was speaking anything more   
than 'no' and 'moo-y'. Apparently, Marron was the little boy Lily was   
holding. That was definitely not how Sirius remembered it-- in fact, he   
remembered them going and doing the Fidelus Charm that night, with   
Peter as the Secret Keeper-- even if they didn't actually _tell_ him he   
was the Secret Keeper for another few nights.  
  
Confused, Sirius came closer to the group, and was almost at the table   
when he felt the magic of the group ripple outwards and grab him. With   
a yelp, he found himself blinking in stark confusion as he landed on   
the floor. When had he tripped?  
  
And since when were the four at the table aiming their wands at him?  
  
"Hey, hey," he lifted his hands, "watch where you're pointing that   
thing!"  
  
"Who the hell are you?!" James snapped, "A spy for You-Know-Who?!"  
  
"His name is Tom Riddle," Sirius grumbled half-heartedly, ignoring his   
once friends' confused stares, "And why the hell would I be a spy for   
that asshole? He and the rat got me locked up in Azkaban for twelve   
years!"  
  
They were still aiming their wands at him, and in a fit of annoyance,   
he sent his own ripples through their magic-- yanking the Wizard Weapon   
from their hands. They flew into his own palms, and he studied them   
with his Power-brought senses.   
  
There were minor differences to them, he found with a shock. He and   
James really _had_ changed places in this world. What the hell was   
going on. With a groan, he held his head, "Harry, this is all your   
fault."  
  
---  
  
After about six hours worth of explanations-- which was almost the   
exact same conversation over and over again as Lily, James, Padfoot and   
Remus repeated the exact same questions again and again-- Sirius had   
finally got them to understand. Sort of.  
  
To them, he was Sirius from the future, come to save them from dying   
horrible deaths at the hands of the Deatheaters, and to keep his   
younger self from being accused of murdering his wife and best friend--   
Sirius was still trying to accept the concept that _he_ was the one   
married to Lily-- and sent to Azkaban. Of course, that was only to the   
four that were there when he arrived. Lily had cooked up some cover   
story about the older Sirius being the younger Padfoot's long-missing   
uncle, Aeris.   
  
"Aeris" had been the only one to find that funny, but he supposed it   
made sense. He very highly doubted that game was out yet-- the   
playstation had yet to be invented.   
  
Aeris had been warned that he could spend many, many years in the   
Challenge-- he just never thought he'd be one of the Weapons who went   
through it. The fateful Halloween night that had seen Lily and James   
Potter die passed without incident, Sirius and Lily having decided that   
they would have James as the Secret Keeper, while telling everyone it   
would be Aeris. After all, they had a blood connection, right?  
  
But as life progressed, Aeris found it trying and harsh. Marron began   
to be taught battle magic the day he turned seven. Voldemort was still   
on the loose, still very powerful, and it was only through pure luck   
that "Aeris" managed to get away from him and the other Deatheaters to   
the point when the Fidelus Charm was no longer needed-- Marron was   
eight years old, and capable of holding himself against Auror James   
Potter's own mighty wand.   
  
At least, in his world, there had been a time of peace, a time where   
people learned that not all was battle, and they weren't training   
children almost as soon as they could walk in methods of fighting.   
Sure, he was a Weapon, and sure, he appreciated all the training in the   
art of war-- but to train children for so long? This world was   
practically creating an army of Weapons-- minus the ability to channel   
the Power.   
  
And he hated it.  
  
"Uncle Aeris!" drawn from his thoughts, the man once known as Sirius   
Black turned to find an eleven year old Marron baring down on him,   
waving a letter in hand. With Lily and Sirius working as Aurors in the   
Ministry, Aeris had practically raised the child, "I've been accepted!"  
  
"Really?" he turned a smirk on the boy, "S'wonderful news."  
  
The boy nodded rapidly, then paused, "Uncle Aeris?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"What was Hogwarts School of Battle Magic and Tactics like when you   
went there?" Another pang ripped at his heart. That wasn't supposed to   
be. It was supposed to be Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,   
but the name had been changed when Marron was three, after old   
Dumbledore's death while facing Voldemort and a legion of Deatheaters.   
Headmistress McGonagal only taught battle magic these days.  
  
"A lot different," he mused sadly, then, for absolutely no reason, he   
found himself patting Marron on the head and muttering, "I wish you   
could have seen what Hogwarts was supposed to be like."  
  
And the world dissolved.  
  
---  
  
Sirius found himself blinking spots out of his eyes, staring off into   
the blackness that he remembered from a decade earlier. The Power...   
Challenge... he'd all but forgotten. The Power rippled around him, and   
he could have sworn he heard a whisper telling him that he had learned   
what the Challenge had meant for him to learn.  
  
That things were perfectly fine the way they were. That if Lily and   
James had survived all those years ago, like the Lily and Sirius of the   
Challenge, then no child would have ever been able to grow up without   
Voldemort hanging over their heads. Things were the way they were   
supposed to be.  
  
Shaking his head, and wondering if that other world had ever actually   
existed, he struck off in a completely random direction. Not five   
minutes later, and he saw Harry, and two strange figures standing off   
in the distance. He broke into a run, feet pounding the non-existent   
ground to get to his godson as soon as he possibly could.  
  
"Harry!"  
  
Harry grinned widely, practically vibrating on the spot, a maniacal   
gleam in his eye and a psychotic smile on his face as he waved   
frantically. The strange redhead to his right was giving him a   
malicious bearing of the fangs, in what Sirius assumed was supposed to   
be a smile. He didn't really notice the fact that it was malicious--   
mostly because he'd seen such expressions on his godson's face often   
enough.  
  
"So?"  
  
"So...?" Sirius drawled, sweeping Harry into a hug and promptly   
granting upon his skull the wondrous thing known as a noogie.  
  
Harry pouted and whined, "Stop it!! What's you're Weapon Name?"  
  
"Yeah," the strange redhead Sirius didn't know, agreed, "Who is our   
newest Weapon?"  
  
Sirius opened his mouth to respond with the name he'd been using for a   
decade-- but that was not the name that left his lips. Instead, his   
response was "Dart."  
  
The unknown Weapon nodded, "Dart. You practice long-distant weaponry,   
then."  
  
"Yeah, but I th--"  
  
"Dart?" Harry interrupted, then abruptly started snickering, "Dart! We   
need to get you some red body-armor and some blonde hair dye! Dart!"  
  
Sirius nee Dart hiked an eyebrow, "Is he on something?"  
  
"Oxygen," intoned an all-too familiar monotone, and Dart turned to face   
the one who he hadn't recognized at first. Then he gave a low whistle.  
  
"Shiiiit... Weapon?"  
  
"Indeed," silver eyes framed by silver hair set in milky white skin   
turned to appraise him, "Welcome, Dart."  
  
"Er... okay..." Sirius tipped his head to one side, "Man, you weren't   
kidding when you said you weren't human."  
  
Weapon gave a mirthless bark of laughter, before turning his attention   
back to the blackness, "Another comes. Virginia."  
  
"I thought Draco would be next," Harry muttered to Dart and Katar,   
"he's usually pretty fast in figuring out what the Power wants him to   
do."  
  
"He's got Hak to help him," Dart returned, turning his attention back   
to the nothingness, and watching the small spark of orangish-red that   
was Ginny's shaved head come ever closer. He had to wonder what her   
Weapon Name would be.  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Well, we've got Sirius' Weapon Name. If you can't figure out the video   
game allusions, Aeris is from Final Fantasy, and Dart's from Legend of   
Dragoon. ^___^ 


	37. Petite

Sorry about the lack of an Update yesterday-- FF.net seems to like not  
letting me log in from time to time. Grr...  
  
Fire-Mage - ... man, I wish Catholic Schools in Canada would be like   
that. *sighs* Oh well... You sound like whatzisface, uhm... can't   
remember his name. An anime character. Who talks about blood and stuff,   
and getting it everywhere. But that's Leigh's department, not   
mine.She's anime, I'm videogames ^___^  
  
cyberfrogX - Chaos rules; my life is chaos. So is my bedroom.  
  
Marschild - Glad to have been able to cheer you up. Hopefully   
Virginia's name works better than Sirius' (That was not, actually, the   
first name I thought up for him, but I decided to go with Dart because   
it made for a lot of teasing between the Weapons. Mostly at his   
expense.)  
  
Willows - They get up so quickly because I have no life outside of   
writting (Blackend Sunrise & Living Weapon), playing videogames, and   
studying for diploma examinations.  
  
Steph - Yeah, Aeris was a girl. From FF7. I think she was Cloud's   
girlfriend or something like that. I haven't played seven in ages. Note   
to self play seven this afternoon. I like writing the Challenges. Maybe   
I'll write a side story about Sirius' life in the Challenge.  
  
guess - Gunblade, hehehe, that's a good Name, but it's not Ginny's. And   
I'm pretty sure Katar will be the one to off Fudge, although the rest   
of the Weapons (mostly Sirius) will get a chance to rough him up.  
  
I suppose I should be studying for my diploma exams (English Diploma on   
Monday...), but writing Blackened Sunrise is so much more fun ^___^  
  
Itchie don't own Potter and Friends.   
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Thirty-Seven : Petite  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
Like Sirius, Ginny's first experience in the Challenge was darkness.   
The all encompassing shadow coiled around her, and half-way on habit,   
she slipped into the half-way state when she could see both the Spirit   
World and the Real World.  
  
Both were dark, and Virginia Weasley felt her mouth go dry. The Spirit   
World was never empty. It always had dancing little pixies and   
spiritual beings of all sorts. A chill worked it's way down her spine,   
and she hastily removed herself from the doubled reality. It was... not   
something she wished to dwell upon.  
  
The gloomy darkness pulled back, but not enough to make any real   
difference. However... further on there was a bright spot in the   
darkness. Although her feet pounded the ground with heavy-footed fleet   
steps, there was no sound-- not even her clothing rippling. She would   
have stopped to investigate, but something urged her onwards, urged her   
to go as fast as she could.  
  
Then, suddenly, she was there, coming to an impossible stop within the   
door of the Chamber of Secrets. Reflexively, she bit the inside of her   
cheek hard enough to bleed, and the sharp tang of her own blood yanked   
her out of the dark spiral of depression that always came about when   
she thought about what had happened during her first year of schooling.  
  
The scene that greeted her was not one she remembered.  
  
While she had been collapsed beneath the statue, she had not been   
unconscious. She could remember the excruciating pain of having her   
life drawn from her flesh, remember watching Harry battle the Basilisk   
through hazy eyes... but it wasn't Harry who was battling the massive   
snake, and facing off against the sixteen year old Tom Marvolo Riddle.  
  
It was... herself? Or... at least, someone who looked like her? The   
small girl was duking it out with Riddle and the Basilisk... she hardly   
looked like the Ginny Virginia had been back then, nor the girl with   
the short spiky hair that was taking the Challenge.  
  
No, this girl's mane of ruby hair was neatly trimmed to her chin-- or,   
would have been if not for the fact that not one strand of red hair   
fell from the thin braids that littered her scalp. A scar ran across   
her forehead; one not that dissimilar to one Boy-Who-Lived. How...   
unusual.   
  
The braided-Ginny's eyes were closed as she hacked wildly at the Snake,   
and Tom commanded it to do whatever it was he was commanding. Virginia   
made a note to ask Harry to teach her to understand the parsel-tongue.   
She might not be a parselmouth, but it would be nice to know what was   
being said. The Weapon-In-Training shifted her attention to the form   
crumpled beneath the statue, wondering who it was that had gotten   
sickened into being in her place.   
  
She blinked a couple times in surprise. Was that... a third year Harry   
Potter? That would make the Ginny-look-a-like in Second Year... well,   
that made a bit of sense. If she had taken Harry's place in history,   
then the whole deal that had happened in _his_ first year, would have   
happened in _hers_.  
  
But she'd figured that out later. Right now... she had to catch the   
younger Ginny Weasley, who had just been knocked across the room, and   
into her older-self's chest. Virginia's lips curled with a smirk as   
Tom's incredulous gaze turned towards her. Virginia set Ginny down, and   
the younger redhead, whirled around, staring up at her with wide eyes.  
  
"Bonjour, Petite," she mentally told herself to stop hanging around   
Malfoy when he got into one of his 'speak-other-language' modes, "Need   
a little help?"  
  
"Who... who are you?!" Younger-Ginny wondered, a suspicious look   
crossing her face. The Older-Ginny grinned widely.  
  
"I think that's obvious, Petite," well, it was a good nickname, and it   
fit. The girl was a 'petite' version of herself, "I'm you. An older   
you. Call me..." she paused. What could she have Petite call her? It   
would be a bit confusing to call someone by one's own name... ah-ha!   
That was it! She refrained from doing a little dance then and there.   
  
Harry had been wearing off on her.  
  
"Call me Rouge," the toothy grin 'Rouge' gave Petite was not one that   
inspired confidence in her, but the younger girl obviously found   
something familiar in the grin, and closed her eyes, whirling back   
around to face the Basilisk that Tom had directed to attack them while   
they were talking. Rouge didn't close her own eyes, she merely shifted   
into viewing the Spiritual Realm.   
  
Then the two redheads blew into action, Rouge releasing the weave of   
Power that had been holding the gigantic snake back. She kept her   
Amazon Battle Staff around her left ring finger in it's must useless   
form-- a ring, of course-- and hauled out the heavy artillery. The M-60   
in her hands was a comfort, as she took aim.   
  
"Ginny!" came the coughed warning from Harry, before the thirteen year   
old started truly fading away, and Tom got stronger. Petite reacted on   
instinct, leaping out of the way as Rouge cut into the beast with her   
weaponry, cackling sadistically all the while. This was pay-back.   
  
You're next, Tommy-boy, she thought nastily, eyes glowing with delight.   
This was fuckin' _fun_!  
  
---  
  
Petite would have waved Fawkes off, to prevent the bird from healing   
the young heroine, had she been conscious. Unfortunately, the Basilisk   
had _not_ been dead once Rouge had unloaded all her ammunition into the   
damned thing. It had been crippled, but not enough that it couldn't   
bite Petite when she went back at it with the Gryffindor Sword. The   
girl was nearly dead, and as the bird expended it's healing tear, it   
wondered if Harry Potter, the boy who'd been tricked into opening the   
Chamber of Secrets would survive.  
  
It needn't have worried. After putting a single shell from her .9mm   
through the diary that had once been Tom's, and eliminating the   
lingering spirit, Rouge had turned to the boy who was her elder   
brother's best friend. He was not doing so hot, and with Fawkes healing   
Virginia, he probably wouldn't survive.  
  
It was a damned good thing Rouge was familiar with his spirit, as she   
wove the healing aspect of the Power into his body, and strengthened   
him enough that he would survive to be healed by some of Madam   
Pomfrey's healing spells. It was all good.  
  
"C'mere bird," she called out to the Phoenix. Fawkes squawked   
indignantly, but came any ways. Rouge slipped Gryffindor's Sword back   
into the Sorting Hat, then handed it to Fawkes, "Get this outta here,   
back to Ye Old Bearded One, and I'll take the kiddies back. Deal   
birdie?"  
  
An annoyed glare was sent the way of the Weapon, and she scowled at it,   
"Don't test me bird. I'm a marksman; I could shoot you directly 'tween   
the eyes from the doors of the Great Hall if you were at the highest   
point of the ceiling. I'm also not in a good mood. I really dislike   
this whole Chamber of Secrets shit; bad memories, you understand.   
Shoo."  
  
If a bird could roll it's eyes, Fawkes did, but the fiery flying mammal   
shot off, winging it through the air and back towards where Dumbledore   
was awaiting the return of the "heros". Rouge muttered something   
uncomplimentary, then hefted Potter across one shoulder. Petite   
followed over the other shoulder a few minutes later, and she strolled   
out of the chamber, back towards the way she hoped was an exit.   
  
Briefly she wondered how to explain her presence to the headmaster and   
professors, then told her mind to screw itself. She hadn't explained   
anything to either for months. Why would she start now?  
  
---  
  
Being locked up in the Hospital Wing when nothing was wrong with you   
was _very_ boring. Rouge found that out soon enough, as she was   
relegated to the area following her sudden appearance within the   
school. The still-unconscious-and-going-on-three-days pair of Harry and   
Petite were hardly any company. And even if they did wake up, it   
wouldn't be the Harry she knew, or the self she remembered being back   
then.   
  
Staring at both kids she was struck with the startling differences   
between them. Harry's bed was overloaded with chocolate frogs and get   
well cards from friends and teammates. Petite's was empty. There was   
not one card of well-wishing. She fought back a shiver.  
  
Didn't this Harry-version of her have any friends? It seemed not to be.   
  
"Unnnngh..." Petite groaned, hand flying to her forehead. Since it was   
well past one in the morning, Pomfrey was asleep. Rouge, being who and   
what she was, was used to little to no sleep, and stood silently,   
drifting over to the girl's beside.  
  
"Welcome back to the land of the living, Petite."  
  
Petite's eyes flew open wide, and she jerked upright, turning to stare   
at the older version of herself that was standing there, as though a   
part of the night herself. She'd thought this older-Ginny was just...   
something from her imagination, "Rouge...? I mean... Ginny?"  
  
"You can call me Rouge," Virginia shrugged, "I don't mind. It's easier   
than trying to remember there's someone else out there with your name.   
So..."  
  
"So...?"  
  
"So what's with the lack of gifts? No friends?"  
  
Petite gave the older girl an odd look, "What do you mean? You're me...   
aren't you?"  
  
"In a way," Rouge leaned back against nothing, and Petite swore she saw   
a flicker of light forming a wall behind the girl before it vanished,   
"but in a way, not. You've got that cute scar on your forehead an' I   
don't."  
  
The younger Weasley's eyes widened, one hand lifting to her forehead to   
brush against the curse scar that had been there for as long as she   
could remember. Her eyes trailed across her counterpart's forehead,   
"You... you don't have it..."  
  
"That's what I said."  
  
"Then," the second year licked her lips, "Then what happened? Is   
Voldemort not defeated in your world?"  
  
"He was. Now he's back; was resurrected by his deatheaters."  
  
"But... but..." she looked so utterly confused, "but you don't have the   
scar! How was he defeated if not by the curse being reflected...?"  
  
"Oh, it was reflected," Rouge looked up at the ceiling, tracing the   
crack along the ceiling with her eyes, "Just not by me. By one of my   
friends', actually."  
  
"... you have friends..."  
  
Rouge frowned, and the expression chanced her face completely. Petite   
shivered; there was a taint of darkness in the air when she did that,   
"You don't have friends." it wasn't a question, "Bloody pillocks! Why   
in god's good name, not?!"  
  
"No one wants to befriend the Girl-Who-Lived," Petite muttered   
bitterly, "...While-Her-Parents-and-Older-Brothers-Were-Murdered."  
  
"Ouch," Rouge winced a bit, "Damn that title sucks. And we thought   
Harry had it bad; Boy-Who-Lived-In-A-Cupboard. Ha! Man, if Malfoy ever   
hears about this one, I'll never hear the end of it."  
  
"Malfoy?" wondered Petite, confused, "Draco Malfoy? The Slytherin   
Chaser? The one who's dating the top Ravenclaw, Hermione Granger?"  
  
"He's dating 'Mione?!" stunned shock was the only description for   
Rouge's face, "Je-fuckin'-sus. This world is messed up.   
Girl-Who-Lived-Without-Friends version of myself. Is dating my   
brother's girl. Oh yeah, and I thought living Harry's life would have   
been glamourous. I mean, I'm a pure blood, I wouldn't have gotten stuck   
with the uber-muggles. Guess I never actually _thought_ about it."  
  
Petite looked on in confusion as Rouge babbled about how much this   
would sucked compared to her imaginary one. Finally, the older girl   
grumped, "Okay, I get it. Harry's the Boy-Who-Lived, and I'm just the   
Girl-Who-Kicked-His-Ass. Life's fine the way it is."   
  
Petite's eyes nearly popped out of her skull as Rouge vanished from her   
sight. Sinking back into her bed, she rubbed her eyes. Note to self:   
get more sleep.  
  
---  
  
"Uhm... okay..." Virginia was back in the nothingness that comprised   
the Challenge. That was weird. One moment she'd been ranting in front   
of Petite, and then she was back in the darkness. Bleh, whatever. She   
must have completed the Challenge-- even if she had no idea what she'd   
done.  
  
Shrugging, she started off in a random direction, hands shoved into her   
pockets. A flicker of something in the darkness caught her attention,   
and she found herself looking at Sirius, Harry, a strange redhead, and   
a strange humanoid-being. Weirdness.  
  
"Hey P."  
  
Harry rolled his eyes at the nickname. She'd come up with it during   
their "mandatory" Charms class, since both she and Draco had nicknames,   
he needed one as well. And P would work as a good nickname until they   
could come up with a better one. She was just waiting on him to do   
something stupid and embarrassing, and immortalize the event with a   
nickname.  
  
He was very careful to keep his stupid stunts out of her sight.   
  
"Hey Bald One," he returned, "You get a Weapon Name yet?"  
  
"Sir, Yes, Sir!" she barked, saluting, although the dumbass grin on her   
face really kept it from being considered anywhere near serious,   
"Name's Gunn, m'dear sir!"  
  
She paused after a moment, "Hey, I thought I'd say 'Rouge'. Why didn't   
I say Rouge?"  
  
"Hey, yeah!" Sirius threw in, "I thought I was going to be Aeris, not   
Dart!"  
  
"You don't chose the Name," Katar intoned calmly, "The Name chooses   
you."  
  
"Besides," Harry threw in, "Do you _really_ want to have a girl's name   
as your Weapon Name, Padfoot?"  
  
"No, I guess not," he chuckled, "and I bet we can all guess why Ginny's   
Name is 'Gunn'. She has a bit of an obsession with guns!"  
  
She waved a threatening fist at him, "I'll show you obsession, you   
overgrown mutt!"  
  
The humanoid that was Weapon's lips twitched into a frown, "Dragon is   
taking too long."  
  
That sobered the rest up quickly. Gunn stared out at the blackness, "Is   
something wrong with the It?"  
  
Katar was frowning himself, "How good with the Power is he, Harry?"  
  
"Almost as good as a fully initiated Living Weapon," the insane one   
muttered, "is that wrong?"  
  
"No," the man with the fire-cloak crossed his arms, "It just means he's   
a bit deeper into the reality of the Challenge than others. Do you not   
remember your own Challenge, Harry, Weapon?"  
  
Harry's iridescent green eyes took up nearly ninety percent of his   
face, "You mean... he's taken the place of his counterpart?"  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
A nice place to end it, no? And I have special plans for Draco. I've   
actually spent the last week thinking about Dray's Challenge. Go me. 


	38. Within

Willows - the only life I have is forcing me to do my english diploma exam part A today. I'm not likely to get one for a loooooong while. ^__^  
  
Kennan - To be explained in this chapter. Sorry you got confused!  
  
Steph - Bingo on Sirius' Challenge. Ginny's was that she had assumed   
that because she was a pureblood, and had no muggle relatives, she   
would be able to have prevented Harry from living that horrid life with   
his aunt and uncle; unfortuantely, she didn't take into account all the   
facts. As the Girl-Who-Lived she would have been placed on a pedastol   
since infanthood, and as a pureblood, would have been raised knowing   
all about it. She silence could be taken as snobbery, not being shy or   
nervous, and people wouldn't like her.  
  
Maybe I'll write a sidestory about the Girl-Who-Lived.  
  
Kalih - I'm glad you like it so much to deviate from your normal   
pattern of Sev/Harry ^___^  
  
Oh, yeah, and I started this RPG because I am absolutely f'in bonkers.   
check it out at http://groups.yahoo.com/groups/lupinenight  
It's a Harry Potter/FF8 crossover, and read the background info on it   
before you judge (you have to click the group's website link)  
  
Don't worry, everyone can get into this group. I've been trying for   
weeks to change the category on the Blackened Sunrise Mailing List, so   
everyone can get it, but it's not letting me... --.--  
  
Still of the not-owning.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Thirty-eight : Within  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
For a split second, all Draco knew was darkness.  
  
Then pain flared in his ribs, and he felt his body roll over. The   
unmistakable ceiling of his own bedroom greeted him. Wha...? How did he   
get here? And why was he on the floor? Hazy eyes skittered across the   
surfaces in his bedroom until he realized just why exactly, he was on   
the floor.  
  
Lucius Malfoy stood over him, scowling darkly, his boot pulling back to   
give his son another bone-breaking kick in the chest. Unprepared for   
the assault, the Living Weapon let it slam into his body, sending him   
flying. Who knew his father was that strong?  
  
Or maybe it was that his body wasn't the same as he remembered it.   
  
He let the Power flow through himself, and was stunned by the   
realization-- this was not his body. It hadn't been his body for five   
years.   
  
He was eleven again.  
  
Mouth dry, he missed a chance to get revenge on Lucius by catching the   
next foot, and actually got to find out the reason for this beating-- a   
beating Draco did _not_ recall ever happening to him.  
  
"Damned boy!" spat his father, "You were supposed to be in Slytherin!"   
Draco blinked a couple times. He... wasn't in Slytherin? Then perhaps   
Ravenclaw, or Gryffindor. If there was one thing he'd learned by   
hanging around Harry, it was that not all "Gryffindorks" were quite the   
goodie-two-shoes he'd long since thought them to be.   
  
Besides, he knew who Peter Pettigrew was. Is. Whatever.  
  
"A Hufflepuff!" the man roared, and it managed to cover Draco's groan.   
How had he managed to get into Hufflepuff?   
  
You can be really loyal, Hak supplied, not-so-helpfully, more than any   
Hufflepuff _I've_ ever seen.  
  
Shut up, Hak just... "...shut up"  
  
Lucius' eyes narrowed sharply, catching Draco's half-mumbled response   
to the Power's internal, infernal, voice. Seething rage was replaced   
with an icy mask, lips tightening into a pale, bloodless line, "What.   
Did. You. Just. Say?!"  
  
Draco started, surprised that he'd said it out loud for a moment,   
before remembering he'd been developing a habit of answering Hak out   
loud just before the Challenge. The Challenge! He was taking the   
Challenge! How could he have forgotten.  
  
You were being beat up.  
  
"Shut up," this time he said it louder, just to see what this   
Challenge-version of his father would say, or do, to being told what to   
do by anyone other than Lord Voldemort.   
  
"I thought so," his foot came back, and Draco figured his ribs would   
have been broken when it connected, except for two facts. The first was   
mighty impressive-- just because his form looked human, didn't mean his   
bones were weak and frail like theirs. His bones were like a dragon's,   
only condensed further. And the second was because he'd bounced up and   
caught Lucius' foot, unbalancing the older man, and causing him to fall   
on his ass.  
  
Draco slowly stood, cracking his neck as he did so, and rolling his   
shoulders. No where near the muscle-mass he was used to, in his body,   
but it would have to do. He didn't even know if he had his ward around   
his ankle. He'd grown so used to it's presence, that he never noticed   
it anymore, "You know something...?"  
  
Lucius was already getting to his feet, glaring at his son. When had   
Draco gotten so strong? At Christmas, he'd barely been strong enough   
not to react to one of Narcissa's slaps, but any hit from Lucius would   
normally put the boy down for the next couple of nights. Draco had   
taken three hits, and caught one, and was still standing. Still...   
grinning? "What the bloody hell...?"  
  
"You're a bloody pillock!" the younger Malfoy cheered brightly, "Or   
maybe a pouf! Hey, yeah, that makes more sense! What do you see in a   
snake-faced man, any ways, if you're not getting it from him?"  
  
What was Draco babbling about _now_? Snake-faced man? Who could he...   
his mind flickered back to something he'd seen before the end of the   
time he'd been a Deatheater. Lord Voldemort had been handsome, yes, but   
he never aged. Lucius had been a part of his army since he was a sixth   
year at Hogwarts. Voldemort had been over thirty by that point, but he   
only looked nineteen.   
  
Never once had he seen his master age, in the years he'd worked for   
him, but he had seen something truly disturbing. He'd seen the lovely   
and powerful Lord Voldemort physically shift into a vengeful wraith,   
with the face of a snake. But how had his son known that?  
  
"What? ...how...?"  
  
Draco stared at him in shock, "You're kidding. You're _really_ getting   
it from a snake? How 'bout mom? Was she getting it from him too? Ewww,   
I could be the son of snake-man!"   
  
Lucius felt himself exasperated about how Draco was ranting about   
possibly being Voldemort's son, not unlike a muggle. What were they   
_teaching_ there at Hogwarts??  
  
He _knew_ Draco should have gone to Durmstang!  
  
And now Draco was talking to some none existent being apparently named   
Hak. Maybe he'd damaged his son's brain in this beating? It made far   
too much sense, considering this was the most he'd ever hit his son.   
Then again, he rarely saw Draco. Maybe this was how he _always_ was.   
That was a scary thought. The Heir to the Malfoy name... stark raving   
mad. But... would Severus have sent him a let-- no, wait, Severus was   
still pissed off at him because _he_ got Narcissa and the Potions   
Master hadn't.   
  
Talk about holding a grudge.  
  
Lucius' mind was running in all directions, and he didn't bother to   
stop and think it could be inherited insanity.   
  
Draco suddenly clapping brought his own attention back from where ever   
it had wandered, "Hey! That's a good idea, Hak! ...No, I think this is   
the only time you've ever had a good idea. Shut up, Hak."  
  
He turned a ruthless grin onto his father, and Lucius reflexively   
reached for his wand as he saw his son do something he'd ever seen his   
Master do. His eyes began to glow-- silver, not his master's red, but   
it was no less creepy-- the glow increase to the point that his son's   
eyes held no other color. Pure, unadulterated power flooded the room,   
causing Lucius to step back with a gasp at it's strength.   
  
It was literally, visibly, flowing off his son.  
  
The boy's robes began to flap in an unknown wind, slowly twisting,   
morphing, changing into muggle clothing-- a white, oriental style shirt   
with tails that fluttered around his white-booted ankles, thin legs   
clad in white silk slacks. It was an imposing image, his son in pure   
white, glowing with power. He looked... ethereal, but not frail. No,   
strength was dripping from every angle of the eleven year old's body.  
  
Then those glowing eyes narrowed sharply, and in a fashion he hadn't   
seen since the day he saw Tom Riddle change into the true Voldemort,   
scales rippled across his son's flesh. His hair hardened, standing in   
spines, while four blades extended out from his shoulder blades. His   
fingers tapered and became ripping, rendering claws, while a tail   
lashed out from behind the boy. He let a husky laugh leave his lips,   
hissing between his all-too-long fangs.  
  
"Don't recognize your son?" hissed this strange figure, "Oh, that's too   
bad, Daddy-dear. I thought you'd be... proud that your only son was cut   
from the same mold at Tom Riddle. Or perhaps not. I like to think I'm a   
step above that guy. He _is_ only a First, not a Second like me. Like   
Weasley, Potter and Black..."  
  
Black? Who was that? It couldn't possibly be Sirius Black-- he was   
holed up in Azkaban, so it had to be someone he'd met at Hogwarts. How   
dare the boy compare someone of his heritage with a _Weasley_! And   
Potter... James' only son. The Boy-Who-Lived.   
  
Hadn't he taught Draco to hate that boy? But, oh, wait... Draco was in   
Hufflepuff. He wouldn't see any need to get angry and mean with Potter   
since they weren't in _opposing_ houses. Lucius' own rage returned to   
him with the thought of his son in Hufflepuff.  
  
"He was a Slytherin!" snapped the older man, "You are just a lowly   
Hufflepuff. How dare you compare yourself to our Master!"  
  
"_Your_ master," the not-quite Draco returned cooly, "And quite   
frankly, Slytherin sucks. The common room is fucking cold, you've got   
to put charms and wards and locks on _everything_ or someone will make   
off with it, and there's that whole mess with they're all _butt-ugly_!   
Why would I want to get stuck with them?"  
  
"Draco..." Lucius snarled, bringing his wand to bare, "You're going to   
learn the error of your ways... CRUIO!"  
  
"Wow. A Forbidden Curse," Draco's voice was completely monotone as he   
let it wash over him, his dragonic vocal cords humming in a purr as he   
used the Power to block the spell-- and reflect it back to Lucius, "I   
bet you're in a lot of pain, aren't you?"  
  
The fact that his father was on the ground, writhing in pain and   
screaming, and he found it amusing was mildly disconcerting, but he   
brushed it away after a moment, dissipating the spell with Hak's help,   
before crouching beside his panting father, "Want to know why Voldemort   
seems impossible to kill? He does the exact same thing I did to you,   
even with the killing curse. He couldn't kill Harry because Weapon was   
just as strong, if not stronger than him. The price of being the   
Harbinger of the Balance, or Order and Chaos, of Live and Death... wow,   
when I finish this stupid Challenge, I really should give Harry all   
these new titles."  
  
"Ch-ch-challenge...?" coughed Lucius, still laying flat out on the   
ground as he recovered both from the Cruatius Curse, and the surprise   
that his son had reflected it back at him.   
  
"Uhm-hmm," Lucius shuddered as he felt one of his son's claws drag down   
his cheek, slicing his flesh, "The Challenge. I'm not really your son,   
and your not really my father, but I really am Draco Malfoy, just the   
son of a different Lucius Malfoy."  
  
"You've... gone insane..." Was Draco _drawing_ on his face?!  
  
"Yeah, some time around the beginning of my sixth year,"Draco smiled   
happily at the stick figured he'd drawn on his not-quite-father's face,   
duking it out. They'd been conveniently labeled "Potter" and "Riddle".   
Potter was winning, with his stick figure troops behind him-- also   
labeled: Malfoy, Weasley, Black.   
  
It wondered if the images would scar, then discarded the idea. It   
wasn't like this Lucius was a real person. He was just made up by the   
Challenge.  
  
Draco wondered why he hadn't ever stood up to his father before. It   
was... liberating. Not to mention Fun. The surprise on this Lucius'   
face when Draco had gotten back onto his feet. It made his eyes water   
with happiness, since a Malfoy didn't cry.  
  
Unless he was crying while screaming under the effects of the Cruatius   
Cruse and couldn't do anything about it.   
  
Draco stood from his not-so-Father's body, cheerfully licking the blood   
from his claw-tips as he stood around, "Wonder why the Challenge hasn't   
ended yet."  
  
Because you haven't said the magic words.  
  
"Magic words? Hak, it kinda helps if you _tell_ me what you mean!"  
  
You have to... say something, that ends the Challenge, or else you   
could be stuck here for a decade or more; you just have to say the   
right words.  
  
"Wow, you're being helpful," Draco grumbled sarcastically, "Mind   
telling me what those 'right words' are?"  
  
Don't know them.  
  
"HAK!! You stupid... arg! C'mon, standing up to Lucius was fun! Let me   
go home so I can stand up to my dad!"  
  
He blinked, suddenly finding himself in the darkness again, "Those were   
the magic words?"  
  
Apparently. Hak sounded just as mystified. That was very... strange, to   
say the least. He'd never heard Hak sound mystified before.  
  
Don't think it'll last.  
  
"Moron," the dragon grumbled good naturedly. He scratched beneath his   
spines, "So, which way to the 'Harbinger'?" he had to snicker. He was   
going to call Harry that forever now. It was certainly better than   
Ginny's "P".  
  
No idea.  
  
---  
  
It figured he'd be the only one who managed to get himself lost in the   
darkness, rather than immediately finding Potter and friends.   
  
A good twenty minutes following his return from the Challenge, Draco   
finally came across them... they were just facing the wrong way. How'd   
he get around them?   
  
"Whatcha lookin' for?" he wondered, popping up behind Potter and   
staring over his shoulder at the darkness where Potter's green eyes   
were searching.  
  
"For Draco, Draco. He's kinda-- ack! Don't _do_ that!"   
  
Draco started laughing as he stuck out his hand and hauled Potter back   
to his feet. Harry looked so damned funny, when he realized that   
Draco's head was right beside his, peering over his shoulder. A serious   
invasion of personal space. It had been quite surprising.  
  
Katar was looking over Draco's Weapon form with a bit of envy. Why   
couldn't _he_ had gotten a cool form like that?  
  
"What's your Weapon Name?!" Gunn and Dart were suddenly in the   
dragon-boy's face, and he stumbled backwards a step or ten.  
  
"Er... the Name is..." he paused blinking, "Uhm... I don't know? What   
are your names?"  
  
They looked between each other in confusion-- how could he not know   
what his Name was? Maybe introducing themselves would work. Katar   
stepped forwards first, "I am Katar."  
  
"I'm Dart."  
  
"Gunn."  
  
"Figures," Draco muttered, before kicking Harry in the shin, "Why don't   
I know _my_ Weapon Name, Harbinger?"  
  
"Harbinger...?"  
  
"Just answer the question, and maybe I'll explain later," Draco   
snapped, annoyed. Stupid Potter.  
  
"You lived the life of your counterpart, right?" Harry wondered, and   
Draco nodded slowly, wondering if that meant something was wrong with   
the Challenge, "That means you're a lot closer to the Power than anyone   
who just observed, or interacted with their counterparts. It was like   
me and Weapon-- we went through that, too. Only... Weapon could be so   
many different Names, that he was just given the title of all the   
Living Weapons as his Weapon Name. You're probably multiple weapons as   
well."  
  
"...Right..." Malfoy stared hard at him, "How, exactly, do I chose my   
bloody Name, then?"  
  
"What weapons come to mind, first thing?"  
  
Draco blinked, "Scimitar, Dagger, Blade, Bugnuks, Monofilament Wire--   
what the hell is that?-- Staff, Whip, Knives, Shuriken--"  
  
"Okay, we get the point," Sirius grumbled, glaring at him. Why did   
Draco get to have all the cool names?  
  
Harry nodded slowly, then turned to his other half, "What do you think,   
Weapon?"  
  
"Combine two of the names," intoned the humanoid, "the one that feels   
correct will call to Dragon."  
  
"Uh... WireScimitar?"  
  
"No."  
  
Gunn tried, "ShurikenBugnuks?"  
  
"Not likely," Draco made a face.  
  
Dart rubbed his chin, "DaggerBlade?"  
  
"They're the same thing."  
  
"Oh, right."  
  
This went on for a good ten minutes, as they attempted to jam the words   
together to make his Weapon Name, but none of them seemed _right_ to   
Draco. Finally, Katar decided to input his own two cents.  
  
"Bladewhip."  
  
Like that would work, Virginia and Sirius thought as one. They'd   
already _tried_ Whipblade.  
  
Draco's eyes seemed to shine, and in an act of insanity that only Harry   
would attempt-- one he wouldn't have done a few bare months ago-- he   
tackle hugged Katar, ignoring his fire-cloak, "That one works."  
  
And the world fizzled back into existence around them.  
  
---  
  
End Chapter 


	39. Weapon

GentleWaterSoul - I didn't realise Blackened Sunrise took three   
hours to read. Wow ^___^  
  
Phoenix Flight - I just can't leave ya'll with only two chapters a   
weekend. So, here's the third one of the weekend, even if it _is_   
a Tuesday.  
  
Steph - I think I'll take howling wolf's idea and make it a stand   
alone/side fic to Blackened Sunrise, so I won't have to write a   
flashback chapter.  
  
Willows - I know what Monofilament wire is. It's the wire on Linna's   
helmet. Linna being one of the Knight Sabers from Bubblegum   
Crisis/Crash & Tokyo 2040. And about Harbinger-- according to my   
dictonary (and my thesaurus; I checked both) there's no such thing as a   
harbRinger. I wrote it all out as harbringer before I ran it through   
spellcheck and it came up wrong. Had to do a little checking after that   
point ^__^ And to double check, you can always do the highlight hit D   
thing FF.net set up for definitions.   
  
Fire-Mage - What groups are these? I really wanna know! I didn't think   
Blackened Sunrise was popular enough to be on lists other than my own.   
Then again, I also didn't think it would be popular enough to almost   
have four hundred reviews by this point... So far, I haven't uploaded   
Blackened Sunrise to any other website, although I do have accounts at   
various fiction sites all around the net. Mmmmm, chocolate... I'll eat   
chocolates made by practically anyone. Even BC, even if they _do_ taste   
bitter 90% of the time. Er... any ways... I didn't spend the week   
_trying_ to think about Dray's Challenge. It just... sort of happened.   
I had all these lurverly scenes, and most of them didn't actually make   
it into the fic.   
  
Thirty-nine chapters, and JKR still refuses to allow me to even think I   
own Harry Potter.   
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Thirty-Nine: Weapon  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
Bladewhip blinked a good dozen times before he realized he was sitting   
on his ass, on the floor, in the middle of the Great Hall. Thirty   
seconds ago, he'd been in his true form, hugging the blood-haired   
Weapon tightly, in thanks for finding his Weapon Name. Now he was human   
again, and Katar was sitting on his right.   
  
Briefly, he wondered what Harry's Challenge had been like, before he   
stood and popped all the cricks out of his back and neck. The fair   
haired male turned to face the head table, where Hermione and Ron sat.   
The female Gryffindor blinked a couple times, "You're done?"  
  
"I take it we didn't take very long," mused Harry as he stretched   
himself out. Just because his physical body didn't need it, didn't mean   
he couldn't do it. Having the Spirit separate, then re-enter the body   
could actually be very tiring.  
  
"About thirty seconds, actually," Ron mumbled, "That guy," he pointed   
to Katar, "came in, sat down, you all collapsed, glowed for a couple   
seconds, and then sat right back up."  
  
"His name is Katar," Ginny supplied helpfully, "So, Weapon, are we   
fully trained Living Weapons now?"  
  
Silver swiftly took control over green, much faster than it ever had   
when they had begun their training. Their instructor's monotone was   
not-quite so monotone, a small husk of amusement tinging his voice,   
"You have passed the Challenge. That is all that is required to be   
considered a Living Weapon."  
  
"Whoa, whoa, hold up," Draco put his hands on his hips, leaning   
forwards, "Are you saying... that we didn't _have_ to go through all   
that training? We could have just... done the Challenge?"  
  
Weapon gave him a curt nod, "Of course. Your training was so that you   
could be at the best of your abilities before the Challenge fully   
opened the passages within your mind for The Power to follow. Your   
training was to prepare you for War. For the Balance."  
  
That last line calmed Draco significantly. Dart and Gunn shared a   
confused look, before shrugging at one another. They supposed that only   
people as deep in the Power-- or as insane as those two-- could truly   
understand the Balance. Of course they wanted it, and were actively   
participating in it's conception and creation, but they didn't   
understand it as their leader and his second in command understood it.   
  
Hermione hopped off the table, summoning her athame with a negligent   
flick of her wrist. She'd gotten used to the blade that had once been   
used by the ancient spell casters, before they learned of wands. Wands   
were the modern wizard's crutch, only needing a flick of the wrist to   
preform magic. Over the months she'd been using the blade to cast the   
counter runes, she'd grown quite attached to the athame, and had come   
to preform spells outside of her classes with it. There was something   
more... fulfilling about tracing the runes in the air, in knowing all   
the little intricacies of the spell to be able to change it with just a   
simple line here or there.   
  
There was a small part of her that hoped, that when the Balance was   
brought to be, she'd still be the only one using an athame. Let all the   
other wizards and witches keep their wands. She had an athame-- a very   
powerful one, having been enchanting it the entire time she'd had it.   
It was so much a part of her that she didn't even need to say a word,   
or have her wand in hand to bring it to herself. Such a wonderful   
little tool.  
  
"Are you ready, Harry?"  
  
Those four words brought an immediate halt to the investigations of   
their new connections to The Power by the newly instated Living   
Weapons. Katar, Bladewhip, Gunn and Dart gathered in a semi-circle   
behind Harry, who's eyes shone gleefully emerald. Ron still sat on the   
table, there to watch in silent awe as Harry was freed for the first   
time since August. For the first time in five months. It would be a   
momentous occasion.  
  
The second youngest Weasley's eyes widened considerably as he watched,   
dry mouthed, the glowing lines form in the air as Hermione used the   
athame to weave the ancient counter runes. With every scratch and etch,   
another line or eldrich power would appear. Blue, White, Silver, Green,   
Red, Gold, Black, Orange... each rune was a different color when first   
etched, but each faded to a steady hum of lavender as the runes   
interacted with one another. He sucked in a desperately needed breath,   
eyes turning from the runes to the woman casting them.  
  
The sixteen year old's brown hair was lifting into the air, swirling   
around her head as the power around her increased. Her robes flared,   
dancing in the air, a normally unnoticed trim of white along the bottom   
edge of the black cloth shimmered and flickered different colors with   
the ever shifting runes. It was an impressive scene, made all the more   
so by the four awe-struck faces standing behind the close-eyed   
revealing figure of Harry James Potter.  
  
He could feel The Power reached out, stroking his cheeks, and   
whispering reassurances. It was coming back. It would finally be able   
to come to it's most powerful child at full strength. The Power was   
like the soothing hand of a mother on it's child, and more than once   
had Harry imagined that if The Power had a physical form, it would be   
Lily Potter.   
  
That was why it had hurt so much when it had been sealed off from him.   
He had been separated from the mother he so desperately wanted...   
needed. In his mind, he could see Lily reached out and enveloping   
himself and Weapon in her arms as The Power flooded through their joint   
body, soothing Weapon's aching, tortured soul, and acting as a balm on   
Harry's more satanical insanities. It was a reunion that filled them   
both with insurmountable glee.  
  
Finally, Hermione withdrew, moving to stand several feet away, and with   
a whispered, "Finite." the runes flared from faded lavender to a   
startling iridescent shade of amber-gold. Then the light faded away   
completely, leaving Harry Potter standing in the center of a wind-swept   
Great Hall, still completely human. His fingers traced across the   
rune-studded leather on each bicep, before a cruel, malevolent smirk   
crossed his face.   
  
The brown haired Gryffindor bowed deeply, slipping the athame into her   
sleeve before standing once more, "All you have to do--"  
  
"--is remove my own bonds," Harry finished, grinning, "We'll wait until   
tomorrow evening for that."  
  
"Tomorrow?" Ron questioned, utterly confused. He didn't really   
understand what was going on, or what he'd gotten himself messed up   
with, but Harry and Hermione were his best friends. He trusted Sirius.   
He was Ginny's older brother, and had vowed to protect her no matter   
what even before the incident with the Chamber of Secrets. He might not   
know about Malfoy or Katar, but he trusted the other four. He'd follow   
through to the end, and maybe then they'd explain everything, fully, to   
him.  
  
"Yes, tomorrow," Harry's wicked grin only got worse. Hermione's eyes   
widened.  
  
"Everyone will be back..." she murmured appreciatively  
  
"... all in one place," mused Draco, "They can't skip out."  
  
"Exactly," Harry's eyes twinkled darkly, "Now, let's go get some sleep.   
Tomorrow is a big day. Katar? You go with Bladewhip to the Dungeons for   
the night."  
  
Katar nodded, "Until tomorrow, Weapon." His fire cloak swirled around   
him as he trailed after the disappearing Malfoy. Sirius switched to   
Padfoot and followed Ron and Ginny out. When Hermione attempted to   
follow, Harry snagged her sleeve.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
"'Mione..." he was smirking again, "Why don't we have a little talk   
about you and your athame."  
  
She raised a brown eyebrow, "What exactly do you want to talk about?"  
  
"How powerful you want it to be. Consider it... a payment for all   
you've done for me over these past few months."  
  
---  
  
While Professor Dumbledore was not noticeably worried, at the Welcome   
Back Feast following New Years, the entire school knew something was   
up. All of them had seen the fleeting image of a man draped in flames   
flitting about the school at some point or another during the day.   
  
At Slytherin table, Draco couldn't keep the evil little smirk that   
graced his features off his face. At the doors of the Great Hall, the   
large black Grim looked all to amused for many a person's thoughts.   
  
The most disconcerting was at the Gryffindor Table. Virginia had a   
smirk to match Draco's, and every time her eyes would flicker across   
the room only to catch the grey-blue gaze of her cohort, she'd start   
chuckling under her breath. Ron was sitting and laughing with Harry and   
Hermione like he hadn't for weeks, while Hermione was giggling and   
smiling all together to much, her fingers returning to her left sleeve   
every few moments.   
  
And Potter himself looked a picture of darkness as any before him, his   
mussed up, black hair hanging in the now-familiar chin-length tangles,   
his piercings glinting and shining like they hadn't since that first   
day of the school year. He was dressed in his school robes-- they all   
were-- but there was something almost sinister about them that put   
everyone off. The collar around his throat was pronounced in such a way   
that even if they hadn't noticed it before then, it was clear as a   
bell. The silver chain draped loosely for two or so feet from his   
throat, before being wrapped around his wrist, over top his robe.   
  
There was a sense of power around him that hadn't been there before the   
Christmas hols. More than one person had shivered when their eyes   
drifted across the group at Gryffindor Table.  
  
With no warning, what-so-ever, the Grim at the doors began to shift and   
change. Growing up and out into the form of a very familiar face-- one   
that was always mentioned, at least once, in every issue of the Daily   
Prophet. Sirius Black was in Hogwarts; and the students began to   
scream.  
  
Dumbledore had jumped to his feet, wondering what was going on, as well   
as attempting to calm the students, when Draco stood, slamming his   
hands onto Slytherin Table as he bellowed, "_Silence_!"  
  
And lo, there was. But not for lack of trying. The entire hall had   
suddenly found themselves without voices, including the professors.   
Without voices, they could not cast spells.   
  
Or, perhaps not the entire hall as Black clapped, "Bravo. Marvelously   
done, Bladewhip."  
  
"Bet _you_ can't do better," Draco challenged, a gleeful twinkle in his   
eyes.  
  
"Bet I can. Lock," he commanded, and the doors were sealed with the   
Power. The students would have been freaking out even more, but they   
drew strength from the fact that Virginia, Ron, Hermione and Harry did   
not look disturbed. If those four were not afraid, everything was okay.  
  
Right?  
  
With a feline grace, Harry came to his feet, and with him came the   
other three Gryffindors. He made a motion to Ginny, and she pointed at   
Dumbledore, "Be seated." The Power yanked him back into his seat, and   
he couldn't seem to move.   
  
Hermione withdrew her athame from her left sleeve, where it had been   
tucked all day. A single rune graced the air as she cleared the table   
with her magic, and Harry leapt on top of it. He began to pace, an   
amused smile across his face the entire time.  
  
"I bet," he began, "You are all wondering what is going on. Well,   
perhaps I should explain." He twirled in place, "Bladewhip, step   
forwards."  
  
Draco stepped away from the Slytherin table, moving towards the doors   
to stand proud. Harry grinned, "My second in command, formerly known as   
Draco Malfoy. Gunn?" Virginia stood with Draco and Sirius, "My muggle   
weapons mistress, formerly Virginia Weasley. Dart." Sirius bowed, "My   
dearest godfather, once known as Sirius Black. Katar." The man with the   
horned shoulders slipped from the shadows, where by all rights he   
should not have been able to hide, "The Missing Weapon."  
  
His grin got wider, "Hermione Granger, a true spell caster. And of   
course, Ron Weasley, one of my closest friends. Unlike the rest of you,   
they happen to be capable of speech right this instant."  
  
Professor Snape appeared to be attempting to curse the Living Weapons,   
which only made Gunn burst into laughter. Harry smirked at him, "That   
won't work, Snape. You're facing, essentially, five people with a power   
equal to that of Voldemort, and a witch who's power at the moment is   
equal to That Damned Old Bastard. Oh, wait, you know him as Merlin,   
don't you?"  
  
Recognition dawned on the faces of Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape,   
"Oh, I'm so glad you three remember. I was worried I'd have to show   
everyone what you did to me... oh, what the hell! Why not?" He ripped   
his robes away, leaving himself dressed in a pair of black muggle   
jeans, and that was it. Not even a muscle shirt.   
  
Around each bicep was the wards that had bound him for five months, and   
around his neck, the collar they had used to attempt to force him to   
remain in his classes for that entire length of time. The cold glint of   
his metal gauntlets was familiar only to the sixth year male   
Gryffindor's having seen Harry go to bed every night wearing them.   
Potter's fingers came to trace the leather around his right arm, "You   
see, I know all about these wards you used to attempt to seal my other   
half away. I also know the counter runes."  
  
This was the signal the other three, unchanged, Weapons had been   
waiting for. Draco shifted into his draconic form, the white Chinese   
style outfit swirling into existence from his black robes. Virginia's   
feet twisted into their talons, while the fluffy read feathers extended   
from her skull and her tail feathers spread outwards. Her own outfit   
looked like a black leotard with a red stripe directly down the center   
of her front, about a hand's length in width.   
  
Sirius felt the ears of his fennec-like form extending upwards through   
his black hair, and felt his lower half become distinctly animal. It   
was wonderful being back in his true form as the tattered looking jean   
cut-offs formed around his hips and thighs, a red muscle shirt fitting   
snugly over his chest.   
  
"You see," he smiled, "We don't really like our human forms. They're   
far to constraining. It's why I let Bladewhip run around like he did on   
Halloween. Oh, and don't worry. They really are who they once appeared   
to be. The Power is funny like that. It likes to change our shapes."  
  
There was an almost curious look in the faces of everyone who was not   
strictly terrified by the sudden change in their classmates-- mostly   
the Slytherins, and surprisingly, a few Hufflepuffs. Harry was grinning   
widely.  
  
"I bet you want to know what my true form is. Well... let's just say...   
Weapon's not quite as human as the others."  
  
And he withdrew his own power from the wards that had contained him for   
five months, the worn and beaten leather tearing off as he changed.   
  
He grew taller, breasting seven feet, as eyes and hair turned to molten   
silver. His skin faded to alabaster, and ears lengthening nearly four   
inches. His face extended outwards in a vaguely saurian muzzle, but not   
all that far, maybe only an inch or so past where the end of his   
human-nose had once been, and his mouth lined with curved, carnivorous   
fangs. And then the reason for his shirtless-ness came about.  
  
He doubled over as his back began to pulse in time with his heart beat,   
gritting his teeth to keep from howling in pain as blackness ripped   
from his back, splattering the shocked Gryffindor's at the table he   
stood on with his own blood. Two long, thin black demonic wings beat   
twice, having torn themselves free of his lower back. But the skin of   
his back was not done with it's pulsing, as another set of wings   
widened the bloody mess of his back to beat themselves dry.  
  
This set extended from his shoulders, framing the black bat-like wings   
with thick silver feathers, decorated with his own blood. But the drops   
of red slipped off them, splattering on the table, leaving the great   
dove wings to beat themselves dry. Those that were behind him were   
nearly sick as they watched the bloody tracks in his back seal up,   
blood pulling back into his body. It was a horrifying sight to watch.  
  
From wrist to elbow, his flesh split, and wickedly curved,   
scimitar-like blades that extended a good four and a half inches out   
formed along the split. Similar blades arched upwards from his doubled   
shoulders, not unlike Katar's horns. At the base of his spine, a four   
foot tail snaked out, bony protrusions that mimicked the shape of the   
blades, just lacking the bladed edge, grew, the very end tipped by two   
such bones, looking almost like a dolphin or shark's tail fins.   
  
His shoes were torn to shreds as his feet were reconstructed into   
velociraptor-like clawed talons, and the reason for his pants being so   
baggy was made apparent; not only were his feet reconstructed as such,   
but his entire lower-body. Like his feet, his hands changed, losing his   
pinky-finger as his fingers extended and were tipped by dark claws. The   
skin from his navel up was the chill alabaster of his face, while from   
the hips down, it appeared as though his legs were black scales,   
although it was hard to tell as they vanished into his black jeans.  
  
He looked like some sort of deranged angel.  
  
Like a Fallen Angel.   
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Well, I finally gave in and showed ya'll what Weapon looked like. A   
half dinosaur half human thing with big ass black bat wings _and_   
silver angel wings. His entire color scheme is black/silver/white.   
  
This is the longest chapter yet, at nine pages. (Before writing the   
author's notes.) 


	40. Enchantress

Cr1Ms0n^D3v1L - If you liked the 'true spellcaster' part you're really   
going to love her part in this chapter.  
  
katrina - Logan? I'm more of a fan of Remy but... hmmm, I suppose he   
could have adamantium in his body; it would certainly give him an   
excuse to be able to use his blades to be able to cut through anything   
^__^  
  
luverofall - No, I don't think my movel is going to be coming out soon. All the scenes are kinda disjointed, and I'm slowly working on connecting them. Angelus and Lang (the two central characters) are getting pissed off that I'm taking forever. :P  
  
Temptress - Well, old dumble is still kicking, but not likely for   
long... Now, Wolfos...  
  
Ran - If it's unique insanity, why does it remind you of someone?  
*looks confused* Heeey, Farfello's that guy Leigh has an obsession   
with! The one she's _always_ going on about when the gang gets into   
their psycho anime talks. *rolls her eyes*  
  
Willows - Ron has a place. You find out what he's there for at the end   
of this chapter ^___^  
  
darkhaven - It took thirty chapters to get you to review? *grins* well,   
at least you reviewed! To quote Leigh: "I like being original". The   
length actually dropped a couple paragraphs on this chapter, but when   
the inspiriation decides to take it's normal twenty-four hour break,   
there's not much I can do.  
  
Except learn how to type. Aiyah, so many typos found in these author's   
notes...  
  
Black Rose - You're very welcome to writing a Spin-off. I never   
actually thoguht I'd be considering a good enough author to have   
someone ask me to be able to write one. Wow, that's like, to me, the   
ultimate compliment (which is also why, whenever I get my stupid book   
on the shelves, I'm going to be obsessively reading any and all   
fanfiction about it.)  
  
guess - Mwahahahahaha, the God of Death has arisen!... Lacking the   
normal asslength braid, but he's still the God of Death!  
  
ninerings - I do have fan art. I sat and stared over Leigh's shoulder   
the entire hour she spent working on it, to point out what she'd drawn   
wrong. Now, if she'd just scan the thing and put it up on The Project,   
I could post a link to it.  
  
Right, and there are still lots of spots open in my RPG:   
http://groups.yahoo.com/groups/lupinenight  
http://icetemple.tripod.com/  
  
Well, I haven't miraculously turned into Rowling yet, so I still don't   
own Harry Potter.   
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Forty - Enchantress  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
Black scaled tail lashing, Weapon stretched, beating all four wings for   
a final time, popping his spine back into place. He did so hate being   
forced into a human body. Harry could be as human as he wanted to be.   
Weapon preferred his more saurian forms-- this strange combination of   
man and raptor, or his fully raptor form, with the addition of his   
powerfully muscled wings. His vampiric form was more of one he took   
when he needed to attract less attention.  
  
Harry? he called to his other half, Remind me to train the others to   
take their other two forms.  
  
Sure, sure, came the laugh of the boy who was enjoying the stunned and   
frightened stares of his schoolmates, now, stretch your wings a bit,   
would you? This is bloody hilarious!  
  
Weapon gave a mental nod to the green-eyed wizard, and returned his   
attention to the school in general, "This is my true form."  
  
With a bounce, he was on the floor between the tables. He walked with   
surprising grace, and utter silence-- despite his talons. He was the   
Living Weapon, his face blank of all emotion as he prowled up to stand   
before Dumbledore, clawed fingers cupping the elder's chin in hand. The   
saurian muzzle opened to speak something, when a command overrode his   
own wants.  
  
"Back off, Weapon," Wolfos growled, sitting straight from where he had   
slouched during the performance, having seen Weapon's transformation   
before, and not being to impressed with the changes the other three had   
gone through. He was inordinately proud of his creation; he also knew   
he was quite capable of controlling Weapon when he was in full   
manifestation. The wards had helped to block his control, but now that   
they were off, Weapon's loyalty was bound directly to him.   
  
It was just one of those things that Riddle had managed to sneak into   
the creation of the Second Generation Living Weapons. Virginia, Draco   
and Sirius had been mostly exempted from this part of the creation,   
since Harry didn't actually know how it worked. He just assumed that to   
leave the binding spells out would protect them from being his mindless   
servants.  
  
After all, mindless toys were useless.  
  
Unfortunately, the binding of created and creator went beyond merely   
the binding spells, since the majority of the Weapons-- such Katar--   
were muggles. Draco, Virginia and Sirius were well and bound to Harry   
and Weapon, however the doubled "ultimate loyalty" helped to keep them   
from being useless, mindless automations, since the two parts of Potter   
were completely different personalities. They could shift between   
loyalties without even knowing it.   
  
Katar's own loyalty-bindings had been shattered the night he'd escaped   
from Fudge, however, he'd needed a bit of a focus, having not been able   
to think for himself for nearly a decade and a half. As such, he'd   
aimed his focus on Harry and Weapon.  
  
They were set on edge the moment the DADA Professor spoke, wondering   
how he'd managed to slip out of the reigns of Draco's spell, and their   
teeth were grinding as Weapon was commanded to do something he   
obviously didn't want to. It made Draco's mind flash back to that day,   
months ago, when Wolfos had merely spoken the word 'Attack' and   
suddenly he'd found himself introduced to the wall. Silvery steel eyes   
widened as, with a sinking feeling, he suddenly realized that there was   
someone pulling Potter's strings-- and that Harbinger could do nothing   
to fight it off, since he was currently inhabiting Weapon's body.  
  
Daemon stood with an unnatural grace, padding calmly towards the   
beast-man, who's eyes were glassy and blank. After a few tense minutes,   
the old man stood before his student, lavender eyes boring into silver.   
And then, with a suddenness that startled everyone, Wolfos reared back   
and cracked Weapon across the muzzle.  
  
At the keening whine that came from their instructor's mouth, sounding   
all to much like a beaten dog, the three Weapons trained by Potter lost   
it. Dart moved first, the instinct to protect his godson intermingling   
with his subconscious fixated loyalty on the other Living Weapon,   
shooting him across the floor to slam violently into Daemon.  
  
For such an old man, he moved with speed, and strength, kicking Sirius   
up into the air, and firing a curse with his wand, which was in his   
hand with a thought.   
  
Virginia came second, a hawk-like screech coming from her throat, ruby   
feathers fluffing up in agitation and she kicked the wand from her   
former Professor's hands, one of her .9mm slipping from the holster on   
her hip into her hand, and she unloaded the entire clip as fast as she   
possibly could.  
  
Again, he moved with speed, and although his wand had been thrown from   
his hand, a reflective shield managed to destroy the majority of the   
bullets, however, one of them nicked a chain around his neck, and an   
amulet clattered to the ground from within his robes. A second and   
third bullet made friends with his left shoulder.  
  
Then they were grappling, Gunn's strength as a Living Weapon matching   
Daemon's strength from years of training. The two were growling angrily   
at one another, up until Wolfos barked, "Weapon! Attack!"  
  
There was a blur of movement, and then Gunn went tumbling end over end   
through the air. The glassy-eyed Living Weapon was hunched over before   
his commandant, lips curled back and away from his teeth in a mindless   
snarl of rage, hands clenching and unclenching dangerous, deadly ebon   
talons.   
  
Bladewhip and Katar managed to keep themselves from running headlong   
into battle against Weapon, wary where their companions had been rash.   
Ron was glancing nervously from face to face to face, wondering what   
would happen if things failed to go to plan. The way they were going...  
  
But Hermione was not worried. The sixteen year old lifted her athame,   
closing her eyes and concentrating on her own knowledge, she began to   
inscribe runes into the air. Runes of strength, intellect, power,   
passion, life, and effect were etched one on top of the other, the   
power of her own magic filling the room with it's intangible feel. With   
her eyes closed, she did not notice the stunned stares turning to her   
face, the shocked looks as her hair and robes began to swirl in a   
whirlwind of her own power.  
  
When her eyes snapped open, glowing with elderich power, the only thing   
she was was Weapon, a ghostly Harry Potter hovering inches above the   
ground at his side. The glaze in Weapon's eyes began to fade, and an   
actual hint of anger flooded into those normally expressionless silver   
orbs.  
  
Daemon has much to answer for.  
  
Surprised eyes turned to face the girl who could no longer be called a   
'witch' or 'wizard'. The title was to bland, to simple, to describe   
what she was, to describe the level she had ascended to. She was what   
the magic community had once been, before the idea of instant   
gratification came about. She was what in olden times would be   
considered an Enchantress, or Warlock. Those who understood their magic   
to the most basest of levels, and could control it. While she still had   
much to do in order to reach that level of knowledge and skill, she was   
well on her way to doing so, and Weapon felt right in calling her one   
of the long deceased Enchantresses.  
  
But that was not what had caught the Living Weapon by surprise. It was   
the fact that he could hear her in his mind. Her thoughts-- or, at the   
least, those directed at him-- curled about his own mental facilities.  
  
Pay him back, Weapon.  
  
What is this...? he wanted to ask, directing the thought towards her,   
but unsure if she would be able to hear him. Her lips curled into a   
beatific smile.  
  
This is your protection. Follow this link to me, and I will always free   
you from his control.  
  
Silver eyes narrowed with understanding, and the two broke eye contact,   
the real world rushing in on them again. Hermione paid it no heed,   
instead slipping her athame back into her sleeve, folding her arms and   
waiting patiently. At her side, Ron shuffled his feet, wondering   
exactly what was happening. The second youngest Weasley could feel his   
hackles raising as something passed between his best friends, and for a   
moment, he'd found himself staring _through_ everything, seeing a scene   
in his mind that he could not possibly be seeing.  
  
Where Dumbledore had stood, there had been Godric Gryffindor. Daemon's   
place had been taken by a young man with Helga Hufflepuff standing   
directly behind him, the man looking remarkably like the older woman.   
Rowena Ravenclaw had stood proudly in Hermione's place, arms folded   
exactly like the present-day teenager's had been. And in Harry's   
place... had been Salazar Slytherin.   
  
History was... repeating itself? Hand flying to his forehead, the young   
man wondering just exactly what was wrong with him. Then the world   
righted itself, and Weapon slowly slumped over, like his strings had   
been cut.  
  
Wolfos looked startled, then pointed towards the smiling Enchantress,   
"Eliminate the threat."  
  
Weapon did not move.  
  
"Didn't you hear me?" snarled the lavender eyed wizard, "I _made_ you!   
Obey me! _Kill_ _her_!"  
  
That was all the incentive Weapon needed, whirling around and slamming   
Daemon back against the staff table, sending it crashing to the ground,   
and the stunned professors scrambling to get to relative safety. Only   
Dumbledore remained seated, frozen in place by Gunn's Power.   
  
The balding older man scrabbled helplessly at the clawed hands that   
were wrapped around his throat, feet kicking out in a desperate attempt   
to escape. The sixteen year old Weapon's saurian muzzle was pulled back   
into a grotesque mockery of a ruthless grin, "You did not create me."  
  
"W-w-w-wh-a-a-a-at...?" Daemon rasped around the hands cutting off his   
air supply.  
  
Weapon's unusual facial expression got wider, "You did not create me.   
You set me free. Fifteen years ago I was created. Fifteen years ago I   
took Tomas Marvolo Riddle's mortal form. Fifteen years ago I was locked   
within Harry's mind. Over these past fifteen years, I have come forth   
innumerable times," his hands clenched tighter, fierce some iced steel   
gaze landing on Dumbledore's stunned visage, "... every time Harry was   
beaten and abused. Every time he faced something he was unable of   
facing, I faced it. Every time he was forced to do something he   
disliked, I came forwards to deal with it."  
  
Hermione was the only one of the group who backed Potter, who did not   
look stunned at this revelation-- and that was only because she'd   
learned of it before hand, learned of it only bare minutes earlier when   
her spell wrapped around Harry's mind and shielded his consciousness   
from Wolfos' control.  
  
It's called Disassociative Identity Disorder, she mused along their   
telepathic link, Multiple Personalities that literally take on their   
own lives. Except... most of them do not have their own bodies to   
inhabit.  
  
Guess Weapon's special that way, Harry's mental self gave a little   
smirk, always has been...  
  
"Only... it took your meddling for Harry to be shoved to the back long   
enough for me to take full control like I did fifteen years ago. Eight   
months locked up within his own mind, eight months where I had absolute   
control, except..." here, the grin that seemed so out of place, not   
only on the bestial features, but on Weapon in general vanished into a   
dark scowl, that sent chills through the bones of those who saw it--   
Daemon and the Professor's directly in line with the demonic "angel's"   
face, "... except that there was that tiny problem of your being able   
to ascertain your control. You thought you were bloody God himself."  
  
Those pale silver eyes lost part of their dark look as he let the man   
go, watching him slump and take deep, gasping breaths. Wolfos let a   
grin cross his face as Weapon's eyes glazed over, but the grin did not   
last long. One moment, the look on the demon's face was the same as the   
unseeing gaze that was trademark of the fact that the Living Weapon was   
beneath his carefully wrought control.  
  
The next, Daemon Wolfos was feeling blood bubble up in his mouth,   
staring incredulously at the clawed hand that vanished into his   
stomach. He could feel those wicked claws uncurling from their fist,   
and his flesh tore as Weapon reached up behind his once mentor's rib   
cage.  
  
"But you are not God," was the soft husk, the usual monotone left   
behind in his moment between Master and Servant, as the Servant   
rebelled, "You are mortal man. You attempted to tamper with something   
you do not understand. Do not think I do not know of the attempt to   
steal one of my students from me. Do not think I do not know of the   
spell _you_ cast with which to do so. Do not think that I do not   
know... of your partnership with Tomas Riddle."  
  
He withdrew his hand, raking claws across the muscles inside the   
elder's chest, a sickening sucking sound coming about as he removed his   
limb from the wound. Blood flooded out of the injury, and Weapon stood,   
tongue slipping out to lap up the splatters of blood that decorated his   
claws as he raised his hand to his mouth. He stared down at the dying   
man without emotion, before turning, and striding to the center of the   
Great Hall.   
  
Students cowered away from him, eyes still locked on the corpse as it   
sunk fully to the ground, the man unable to support himself as his life   
blood spilled out across the floor.  
  
And Ron saw the strange doubling of images again, although the image of   
the founders revealed that as Salazar walked away, Rowena had lost her   
cool, staring at the headless corpse that had been the unknown relative   
of Helga Hufflepuff. Things did not always happen exactly the same, and   
as Salazar slipped from the hall, Weapon halted directly in the center,   
his back to the staff table. The image of the founders faded away,   
leaving Ron with a headache.  
  
Weapon's icy silver gaze swept over the students, and he crossed his   
arms, Bladewhip and Katar gliding silently to his sides, Hermione   
moving to stand directly in front of him, and a hesitant Ron skittering   
along behind her. He was already too far into this to back out now.   
  
Weapon nodded to each of his supporters, turning to gaze at Gunn and   
Sirius who were slowly recovering and getting back to their feet from   
the harsh treatment they had received. But their eyes were on his,   
offering him tumultuous smiles of encouragement. To them he nodded as   
well, before his gaze returned to the students that hours ago had been   
his class mates.  
  
His wings flared out to their full wing-span, feathers brushing across   
Katar and Draco's cheeks, the wings surrounding them like a blanket of   
warmth for a moment, before the very tips stretched as far as they   
could. This impressive show was to bring attention to the fact that he   
was not only Dark, but Light as well. He was both, and yet not. He was   
above such silly things as Order, he was an agent of Chaos, of the   
Balance.   
  
"You have a choice," his voice was back to it's traditional monotone as   
he stared unflinchingly into the eyes of the terrified and the angry,   
"You can join us in the coming of the Balance, or you can join Daemon   
in the hell he belongs to. Whichever you prefer."  
  
After all, what did he care?  
  
He had his Weapons-- Gunn, Dart and Bladewhip. He had the Missing   
Weapon as an Ally. He had an Enchantress on his side. He had a   
clairvoyant, even if the teenager had yet to realize it. He had all he   
needed to bring about the Balance.  
  
Hermione's eyes met his.  
  
And the Balance we shall bring about, the smile on her face was   
innocent, but the glint in her eyes held the touch of madness garnered   
by her mind sliding across his. The Balance will fix everything.  
  
Even death.  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
I feel this is a good a place as any to cut this off. Sorry's it's   
short than 39, but I honestly could work up the thoughts to continue   
this out a couple more pages.   
  
So we've finally learned that no, Weapon is _not_ a separate soul, just   
a personality. It only took, what? Thirty seven chapters?  
  
And Ron's now a clairvoyant. Why? Because I said so. 


	41. CleanUp

Please note that I've rewritten this chapter. Danke  
  
---  
  
Soulless - Cookie! *pounces on the cookie*  
  
Black Rose - Don't put yourself down. The only horrible writer is the   
writer lacking punctuation, grammar, and paragraphs. Paragraphs are   
essential. Yes, yes they are. Any ways, you can just send it off to   
sammi.grace@3web.net (which isn't my main email, by the way, but my   
main email has so many protections on it, that I'd never get your   
email!)  
  
eat mang0 - Dance a jig?? Argh, stupid image, get out of my head! Every   
time I hear the word 'jig' I think of leprechauns. When I think of   
leprechauns, I think of dwarves. So now I've got the image of Gimli   
from LOR dancing a jig in my head. Argh!!!  
  
Kid Major - I only remember the names of those who have a habit of   
reviewing every other chapter, so I have no idea if you've previously   
reviewed, either. ^___^ Glad to have made your day betters!  
  
wicchick - The novel is entitled "The Living Weapon". Believe me, it is   
seriously more messed up than Blackened Sunrise. (Lang: Is not!   
Angelus: Think about it for a moment, stupid Weapon. Lang: Oh, wait...   
yeah, I guess it is. ^___^ Itch: both of you, hush-up!)  
  
Fire-Mage - I don't think I'd be much help with the revolution against   
schooling. I've only got five months left and I'm out forever. And   
every day ends with Mechanics, where I get to pull apart, and put cars   
back together ^___^ I like Mechanics...   
  
arielawillow - A clairvoyant is someone who can perceive things beyond   
the natural range of the senses. They can also see the future, but I   
decided that Ron can see the past, too. Just because it's more fun that   
way. He'll never know if he's seeing the future or the past, unless   
there are some pretty obvious indicators (like GG, SS, RR, and HH)  
  
RPG is still located at   
  
How many times do I have to say that I do not own Harry Potter?  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Forty-One: Clean-up  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
Blaise Zabini grunted, hefting another corpse into the pile in the   
center of the Great Hall. The lax, or terrified faces of his former   
classmates greeted him, and he shuddered, before turning his attention   
back to the bodies.  
  
The school was considerably smaller now, if it could still be   
considered a 'school'.  
  
Four hours earlier, he'd just been the average Slytherin.  
  
Three hours earlier dinner had begun.  
  
Two hours earlier he'd been given a choice.  
  
An hour earlier and those who remained began to gather the bodies under   
the command of their leader, piling the bodies of those they had been   
talking to and goofing around with not even five hours earlier. It was   
not a pleasant sight, to see all these bodies, the bodies of those who   
had refused to bow to the power of Harry Potter's 'Balance'. Those who   
had forcefully resisted, those who had attempted to attack, had been   
brutally slain, their life blood still splattering the floor, faces,   
necks and clothes of those who had been forced to watch the murders.   
  
There had been those who had stood to one side, whispering amongst each   
other, before quietly telling Potter that they could not side with him.   
They would not abandon what they had been raised to believe. Those had   
been exterminated with mercy, falling limp and dead to the ground   
without so much as the slightest of injuries.   
  
Tired eyes gazed to the front of the Hall, where the Professors were   
chained up. Figuratively, although it might had been literally, as they   
were bound without movement or voice, sitting against the wall, some   
pale and others unconscious from viewing the deaths caused by the   
Living Weapons and Hermione Granger.  
  
Of those that remained, Blaise was the only Slytherin above fifth year.   
There were three fourth years, five third years, two second years and   
all of the first year Slytherins in those who had pledged their loyalty   
to Weapon in exchange for their lives. Zabini had to wonder how many of   
them would die in becoming a spy for the Ministry of Magic, just to get   
back at Potter for 'ruining' everything. He very much doubted any would   
get away with it.   
  
The Ravenclaws had been the group that had been killed with mercy. Of   
them, they had only four students ranging from fourth to sixth year,   
two seventh years, two third years, one second year, and another four   
first years. Hufflepuff, surprisingly, held no casualties. Somehow, all   
of them had become very loyal to Potter during their months and years   
at the castle.  
  
Gryffindor on the other hand... all of the sixth year remained, those   
who had been with Harry for the first four years of his magical life.   
Seventh year was much the same, and first year had managed to survive   
intact. Years two through five-- excluding Virginia, a girl and a boy--   
had been massacred. They had attempted a mad rush after seeing the   
brutal murder of Daemon Wolfos, reasoning that this monster could not   
possibly be Harry James Potter.  
  
Their lives became forfeit the moment they had rushed-- Weapon relaxed   
his control over the Power, and let it flood outwards, ripping into the   
students with all the ferocity of a mother dragon protecting it's   
hatchlings.  
  
"Stand back," Katar's voice floated over the crowd of students that   
were staring in horrified wonder at the piled corpses of their friends,   
and in some cases family. The Missing Weapon set forwards, coming to a   
stop before the life-less face of the blonde Pansy Parkinson, and he   
set the tips of his fingers against the black cloth of her robe. Flames   
quickly spread to said material, before catching onto the others, and   
the bodies began to form their own inferno.  
  
Seamus Finnigan slapped a hand over his mouth as the scent of burning   
flesh reached him, causing the Irish teenager to rush to a corner of   
the room and wretch up his dinner. Many others followed him, and   
Hermione took pity on them. Several glowing lines later, and the scent   
vanished.  
  
Her own face regained some of it's color as she carefully avoided   
looking at the bodies.  
  
Malfoy did not seem to have this aversion to the sight of the burning   
bodies, his mind already perfectly comfortable with the situation both   
from the Power that flowed through him, as well as from the fact that   
he had seen the bodies of many tortured and dead muggles in the year   
and a half since Voldemort's return to a corporeal form. This was old   
news to him, and so, he crafted a staff out of the power, and poked   
bodies deeper into the raging flames.  
  
Virginia, Sirius, Ron and Katar looked to Weapon for instruction, and   
they got it. They were to take the remaining students to Gryffindor   
Tower, where they could clean themselves up. From there, they would   
wait until Weapon, Draco and Hermione would return.  
  
Soon enough, the hall was empty, but for those three, the burning pile   
of corpses, and the Professors who were sobbing at the sight of the   
bodies of their beloved students. It was terrifying to realize that   
Harry Potter was much more dangerous than they had ever assumed Tom   
Riddle to ever be. It was terrifying to realize that _they_ were the   
reason this madman was within the halls of the once thought to be   
impenetrable Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  
  
Nothing is impenetrable, Harry mused to his body-partner, everything   
has a weakness, somewhere.  
  
Indeed, Weapon returned coolly, shall we proceed?  
  
Let's do it!  
  
"Bladewhip, Enchantress," he didn't bother to turn to face either,   
dropping off his perch, flaring his winds to catch what little breeze   
he himself produced, to land on wickedly sharp talons. He was facing   
the Professors and Dumbledore as he allowed Harry to come forth, tail   
sucking back into his body, wings doing much the same. Blood trails   
covered the teenager's bare chest, "What you think we should do with   
these ones?"  
  
"Show them the Balance..." Draco's silver eyes flashed, the spines that   
decorated his head rising up in a show of eagerness, "Show them what   
they're going to die to bring about!"  
  
Hermione crossed her arms, "We should figure out who they're loyal to   
_before_ randomly killing them, Draco." She really didn't want to see   
any more deaths, but she knew that in siding with Potter, that it was   
inevitable.  
  
"Wonderful ideas!" Harry clapped, green eyes glinting wildly, spinning   
in a circle to point abruptly at Sybil Trelawney, "False Prophetess,   
whom do you serve?"  
  
The other Professors were confused when Trelawney tipped her head to   
one side, and spoke with a dreamy voice, "I serve none but the fates."   
They were more confused he Harry bent over.  
  
"And what are the fates telling you _now_, False Prophetess?"  
  
Her eyes were surprisingly clear when they locked onto the boy's, "It   
is time that they die. Old will die, to create New. I will die."  
  
He gave her a toothy grin, "I've got plans for you, Prophetess. You'll   
live a bit longer... Queenie," he turned to McGongal, "To whom is it in   
that your loyalty lay?  
  
The severe-looking woman pursed her lips, finding an answer somewhere   
deep within her mind, even when she was unsure of what exactly he was   
asking, "Order."   
  
He made a motion, "Stand with 'Mione," and without her even moving, she   
was suddenly on the floor beside her best student. The Enchantress   
ignored her presence completely, watching the proceedings with no   
little confusion. Although her presence was still very much in the back   
of the mind of her DID-friend, she had no understanding of the process   
through which his thoughts ran at that moment. She refrained from going   
deeper into his consciousness, simply because she was not sure if she   
wanted the knowledge that she would gain from that experience, enough to   
travel the uncertain plains of the Living Weapon's mind.   
  
Those who answered 'Order' to Harry's question were sent to Hermione.   
Those who answered 'Chaos' went to Draco side. Finally they came to the   
last Professor-- the great Albus Dumbledore. The eldest Wizard in the   
room and Potter held gazes for several long moments, before Dumbledore   
broke the stare to look over at the Professors at Granger's feet.   
  
"You already know the answer to that question, Harry."  
  
"I wasn't going to ask you that," the teenager gave a malicious grin to   
his once mentor, "In fact, I wasn't going to ask you anything." Black   
painted nails skittered over the knives tucked into dark gauntlets that   
still guarded his wrists, despite the transformation into Weapon having   
created the wickedly edged bone blades that should have sliced through   
the metal-- and would have, not they been enchanted long ago to   
withstand the change. But his hands moved away fromt he knives, and   
despite his calm face, Dumbledore felt a chill of fear curl into his   
stomach. He had assumed that Harry would kill him-- the professor had   
long since known that he would be utterly destroyed by one of his   
students. When Tom had become Voldemort, the headmaster had   
automatically assumed that it would he he who killed him.  
  
Now he wasn't so sure. What was this boy-- no, he was a man. Anyone   
who could go through the horrors that needed to take place to become a   
Living Weapon had to be a man-- up to...?  
  
"Normally," the teenager continued cheerfully, a familiar flash of   
insanity in the depths of his brillant emerald eyes, "I would just let   
Weapon toast you. He really wants to, you know. Manipulation like   
you've done over the years isn't exactly something either of us really   
likes. Buuuuuuuut..." he trailed off, and pulled a simple switch blade   
from his pants pocket, instead of the knives decorating his bare arms.   
  
The knife jabbed into Albus' left shoulder, hauling the headmaster out   
of his wonderings of where his former student was going with this train   
of thought. Gunn's Power still bound him tightly to the chair,   
preventing him from even jerking away from the pain as the knife was   
removed-- with a little bit fo flare, the wound being dug deeper and   
wider. His wince, however, did not go unnoticed, and Potter's maniac   
grin became a cheerful smirk, "Ah-ah-ah. Pay attention when I'm taking,   
ya old Bastard."   
  
"What is it that you want, Harry?" his voice wavered, but he steadily   
kept it to his 'gentle, senile old man' tone, trying desparately not to   
let him notice the pain or the anger that was slowly building up within   
him. How dare this child attack him?! He had promtly forgotten calling   
Potter a man in his own mind only minutes earlier.  
  
"Oh, that's easy," purred the teenager, leaning forwards and resting   
his forehead against the wrinkled one of his ex-mentor. The switch   
blade lazily trailed it's way down Albus' cheeks leaving stinging   
passages. Harry _enjoyed_ dishing out pain. Pretty little designs and   
scenes began to appear on the other man's cheeks as his warped mind   
played. Dumbledore tried not to wince, but he knew all to well exactly   
where Potter had learned his tricks. Daemon, the poor dead bastard, had   
taught the teenager well-- where once Albus had watched Daemon   
gleefully torture one of Grindlewald's supporters for information,   
decades past, he was now on the recieving end of such brutalities.  
  
"You're not paying attention," pouted the raven haired youth, having   
withdrawn another knife-- this one from his gauntlets-- and pierced it   
through the headmaster's right shoulder. The blade cut through flesh   
and bone, biting deep into the wooden chair Albus was 'tyed' to. Harry   
gleefully licked his lips, "You see, Professor, I was thinking. The   
original plan was just to outright kill you. A little bit of torture,   
bath in your blood, glorify your destruction-- you know, the fun stuff.   
But then... I realised something."  
  
Draco and Hermione shared a confused glance, watching the interaction   
carefully. Both knew all to well how Harry got when he was deep into   
his own madness. He wasn't at that point-- yet-- but he was creeping up   
on it.   
  
"What did you realise, Harry?"  
  
He tapped the knife against the professor's nose, ignoring the blood   
slipping up from the tiny scratch he'd made, "You're really old,"   
several people twitched. Like _that_ wasn't obvious, "Really _really_   
old... and really experienced. You know a shit load of things that   
would be... very helpful."  
  
Hope began to spark in Albus' chest, that he might just live through   
this encounter-- and the Potter abruptly shot it down, "But you're also   
very dangerous. I don't like dangerous when it can be used against me.   
I saw this on the telly once, when I was living with Wolfos. Don't know   
if it'll work but..."  
  
You never know if you don't try, Hermione echoed Harry and Weapon's   
throughts in the back of their conjoined minds.   
  
Harry grinned widely, ramming the switch blade back into Albus' left   
shoulder. His right hand came up, knocking Albus' inane hat off his   
head to dig his fingers into snowy white locks. Fingers curled harshly   
against his skull, but as dulled and chewed as they were, they did no   
physical damage.   
  
Power crackled over his fingertips, his madcap grin widening   
sickeningly, eyes wide, pupils dilated, and seeming to be a   
picture-perfect poster child of insanity. And then Albus began to   
scream and howl, thrashing against the Power that Gunn was using to   
hold him in place. Blood began to dribble from the scratches on his   
scalp made both by Potter's grip, and Dumbledore's senseless flailing,   
the other professors watching in mute shock.  
  
Then his thrashing was slowing. His body began to slump over, and   
Potter let him go, cheerfully licking his fingers of his mentor's   
blood. The older man moaned pitifully, being forced to sit half-way up   
straight by the Power. His glazed milky-blue eyes stared out over the   
Great Hall, incomprehensible of what was going on around him.   
  
Harbinger knocked him back, pulling the knives from the old man's   
shoulders. Another pitiful moan escaped the old man's lips, and Harry   
sighed, dejectedly, "Oh fine, be that way."  
  
Draco looked confused, but Hermione was openly gaping. Seeing as she   
had still been connected to his mind at the time, the Enchantress had   
realised what their leader and friend was doing only moments before   
he'd done it. She hadn't pulled out of his mind fast enough, and found   
herself desparately fighting off what memories Albus Dumbledore had   
contained that had bleed through the connection and into her.   
  
Harry sighed, shaking his head, "I mean, sure I just stole all your   
memories, but you don't have to act like a kicked puppy."  
  
"Stole...?" echoed Bladewhipe, "Harbinger, what in the world are you   
babbling about now?"  
  
"Never you mind," Harry returned cheerfully, "I'll explain later. For   
now..." he began to hum a little song he'd heard one of the seventh   
year Ravenclaws-- one that had survived the night's massacre at that!--   
belt out from time to time. The knives in his hands flickered with   
elderich flames and Harry quite happily threw them at his mindless   
mentor. They sunk deep into his flesh and he gave a beastial howl as   
they began to absorb his magical energies to fuel their furious hunger.   
Albus screamed in pain as he began to be burned alive by the mana-fed   
flames.  
  
---  
  
Ron stood back as he watched the students slowly filtered back into the   
common room from the showers, in fresh robes and with damp hair. Some   
were still in shock over what had happened, others were regaining their   
wits and staring at the floor as they realized what their allegiance to   
this terrifying beast of a man Harry had become, truly meant.  
  
They could be giving up any chance to return to their families. They   
could be siding with someone more evil that Voldemort-- or more good   
than Merlin. They didn't know. They hadn't had a chance yet to   
understand.  
  
Ron himself didn't understand it. But Ron had had several weeks already   
to get used to this idea. Now that it was in full motion, in full   
swing, he could no longer have doubts. He had to be strong.   
  
So strong he'd be, and he'd keep the other students from doing   
something completely and totally stupid.  
  
Like trying to take out Harry.  
  
---  
  
Lord Voldemort froze in the midst of a Dark Revel, snake eyes widening   
impossibly large as he felt a ripple in the Power. A powerful wizard   
had just died. Who...?  
  
...  
  
The flicker of a flame out of the corner of his eye conveyed exactly   
who it was who died, and his tongue slipped out to lick impossibly dry   
lips. Lips that quickly stretched into a smile.  
  
"Albus Dumbledore is dead..."  
  
---  
  
The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, was cowering under his desk. A   
cold chill had just flooded him, and his once body-guard's words came   
back to haunt him.   
  
He knew he was going to die.  
  
Soon.  
  
---  
  
It wasn't long before a number of other bodies joined the pyre,   
Hermione, Draco and Harry ignoring the flames to clean up the rest of   
the Great Hall, along with those Professors that had proclaimed to be   
servants of Chaos; Flitwick, Sprout, Binns-- of all people--, and   
surprisingly, Snape.   
  
Just because Severus was a servant of Chaos, didn't mean he wasn't   
going to get his ass kicked for the hell he put Harry through. It just   
meant that the damage wouldn't be enough to kill him. All servants of   
Chaos were generally considered those who created problems for those   
who worked for Order. Snape was _very_ good at causing problems.  
  
Once the Hall was cleaned-- and Draco spelled the burning corpses to   
the front yard of Malfoy Manor, just for the reaction it would get--   
the group trudged itself way to Gryffindor Tower. Soon enough, Hermione   
supposed, Weapon and Harry would change the school back into the castle   
it had originally been. It would be a fortress, a place for Virginia to   
rule from-- the only ones who didn't know that Virginia would rule were   
Ron and Ginny herself-- the center point of their new world order.  
  
She smiled to herself.  
  
She would be the top magic-user. She was an Enchantress. She was   
top-dog, like she always wanted to be.   
  
Wouldn't her parents be so proud?  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
I know this chappie is kinda lame and pathetic, and rather short, but   
give me a break. It's five in the morning, I'm bloody tired, and I need   
some sleep.   
  
Night-night.  
  
---  
  
Author's Notes, version 2:  
  
Yeah, I changed the scene where Albus dies. That's about all that   
changed with the rewrite. It _will_ have an effect on the future, which   
means I'll be going over the twelve chapters that follow this to see   
where I need to change it. Fun, ne?   
  
For those of you who happen to be reading this as a rewrite from the   
original chapter 41 that you all know and love, know exactly whom Harry   
got his song from ^__^  
  
- The Itch 


	42. Spells

Kneazle - Don't worry 'bout it, I take no offense in being asked if I   
took something from your fic. To be brutally honest, I've never heard   
of your fic before (but then, the extent of my reading has gone from   
searching the HP archives to following the links left in my reviews   
^___^), so where I got the Hermione as Enchantress thing...   
wonderful things thesauruses are. That's also where I get chapter   
titles when I'm stuck for names. Thank God that book never leaves my   
desk. It's a life saver.   
  
Radcliffe-Lover - Call it creative license. Harry killed old Dumbly   
because he's very much insane, and the old man had locked up his   
connection with the Power. To be honest, I _like_ Dumbledore. The old   
and wise, but slightly psychotic, characters are always fun. He's just   
dead because that's the way the story flowed.  
  
Kalih - No worries for Mione's parents. I've no plans to kill them off   
Herm's just picked up a bit of Harry's psychopathic-ness, due to the   
connection of their minds, and happens to think that because _she_   
likes her new place in the world, her parents will too... ^-^;;  
  
Black Rose - And I've sent you back an email. ^__^ SD will kill me for   
having Harry torture Sev, but he's so fun to mess around with :P No   
worries, Katar will get back at Fudge for the past tweleve years in the   
twit's service.   
  
howling wolf - *grins*  
  
darkhaven - You'll have to wait a couple more chapters. . I wanted to   
attempt to make an explaination but... well, the story didn't go that   
way. Maybe Draco will explain it to Anger-Management-Man in later   
chapters. (AMM is at the end of the chapter. The name is based on a   
stupid comment he makes...)  
  
VIRUS - On weekends.  
  
Fire-Mage - Don't you hate it when something happens to erase your   
reviews? Evil, evil, evil things...  
  
Phoenix Flight - I doubt it myself; I know _my_ parents wouldn't...  
  
I'm going to be going on about this forever... you know the drill: RPG   
at http://icetemple.tripod.com/ come check it out.  
  
Argh, I've got Paparoach stuck in my head. Maybe I shouldn't have spent   
the day listening to them...  
  
I'm pretty sure I'm not Rowling. Check that, I'm positive I'm not   
Rowling. I'm just borrowing her pets.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Forty-Two : Spells  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
The Gryffindor common room was cramped, with all the people jammed into   
it.   
  
Harry distantly noted this as he entered the room, followed by   
Hermione, Draco and the surviving professors. Impossibly green eyes   
swept across the faces of the students, and he frowned darkly. They   
were far to young to be of any help to him, now. He allowed Draco,   
Snape, Trelawney, Flitwick, Binns and Sprout to slip past him and into   
the room to attempt to straighten out the chaos that had erupted from   
so many people being in one room, but held Hermione back.  
  
His chill gaze remained focused on the students, but his voice was   
directly solely to the Enchantress, "Are there any spells that can   
manipulate time?"  
  
She hiked an eyebrow, "Of course there is. Don't tell me you've   
forgotten about Time Turners..."  
  
"Something a bit more reliable than that," he mused softly, "We need...   
a room, in the castle. One wherein time flows at different rates than   
the rest of the world."  
  
"A place to train," she inferred, "you want to train them...?"  
  
"They'll be good soldiers," he grinned widely, turning to face her,   
eyes dancing wickedly, "Loyal to Gunn-girl, if we play our cards   
right."  
  
She smirked back at him, "You just want to kick their asses without   
them going on about it."  
  
"What can I say...?" he chuckled, "I like pain."  
  
---  
  
Ron's headache had returned with a vengeance, and he whimpered   
slightly. It was not quiet enough to not be heard, and Hermione cast   
him a concerned look, "Are you alright, Ron?"  
  
"Migraine," he ground out through grit teeth, driving his palms into   
his eyes in a desperate attempt to stave off the pounding pulse behind   
them. It didn't work, but he did manage to see some pretty funky spots.  
  
The Enchantress frowned, stepping forwards to place her hand on his   
forehead in an attempt to 'sense' in some way what was causing his   
headaches. In the past two days since the massacre in the Great Hall,   
Ron's headaches had been a constant companion, and it was beginning to   
worry her. She couldn't understand why Harry wasn't worried about it,   
but then, she didn't understand a whole lot about the way Harry's mind   
worked, even if a small part of her was always connected to him.   
  
And then it dawned on her, as her magicks told her there was nothing   
wrong with Ron-- just that a part of him had awoken, and it would take   
some getting used to. No wonder Harry wasn't worried-- he'd probably   
know all along!  
  
She sent a spike of annoyance down the connection to the DID-positive   
teenager, and only got the equivalent of a wide grin back.   
  
"Don't fight the visions then," she smiled at his stunned look,   
laughing lightly, "The headaches come from trying to suppress something   
that your senses are trying to tell you. Stop ignoring them and   
_listen_."  
  
"That's fine for you to say," he growled, although the bite was taken   
from the words with the pain that tinged his voice, "_you_ don't have   
the _pleasure_ of watching people _die_ _repeatedly_."  
  
"No, I just have to share Harry's nightmares of things that happened to   
him in the past," at her friend's startled look, she smiled a bit   
sadly, "He's nutters for a reason, Ron. Weapon had _lots_ of times to   
come out and play. None of us ever saw it, though. Now I am."  
  
"Hermione..."  
  
"But no worries," she cheered almost instantly, "it's all in the past   
now. And we're talking about you suppressing your visions. It's a   
stress on your body, so just let them come, and deal with them   
afterwards."  
  
He stared at her for a few minutes, occasionally wincing, before he   
nodded his acceptance of the fact. With a hiss of breath, he let go the   
restraints he'd built up to keep the visions out of his mind, and then   
he was gone, swept up in a whirlwind of sights, sounds, colors and   
images. It was a rush.  
  
And it only lasted a couple valuable senses, as though it wanted to get   
out of him as fast as possible before he managed to lock down on it   
again. Hermione was staring at him, concerned, and he crawled to his   
feet.  
  
He winced slightly, "You wouldn't happen to know where there's a   
pensieve, would you?"  
  
---  
  
"Wrong!" Harry barked, green eyes narrow as he surveyed his new band of   
students, "Again!"  
  
Gasping for breath, Dean sunk to the floor, sword clattering to the   
ground, his opponent-- a Hufflepuff fourth year named Lizza Dandril--   
doing much the same. The other sixth year shook his head, sweat flying   
in tiny droplets, "We need a breather, Harry. We don't have your   
endurance..."  
  
The sixteen year old frowned, crossing his arms, and scowling with   
annoyance off into the distances, apparently mentally speaking with   
Weapon. After a few moments, Potter relented and sighed, annoyed,   
"Fine, fine. Take a rest."   
  
Stomp-stomp-stomp went his feet as the Living Weapon sulked his way to   
the bench in one corner of the large training center they'd found at   
the center of the school. The Marauder's Map was a wonderful device to   
have. Unfortunately, there were no rooms in the castle like the one   
he'd wanted to train the students in, so that they could get the most   
training out of them as soon as possible, without having to worry about   
taking years upon years.  
  
So Hermione, Ron, Severus and Flitwick had been set upon the tomes in   
the Restricted Section of the library in search of the proper spell. He   
desperately hoped that they had the answer soon. If he had that extra   
time, he wouldn't have to run the students into the ground, and thus   
they'd be less exhausted, and more ready to get back to training the   
next day.  
  
Virginia had been instructed to make sure that the students were   
getting along well, and ensuring that they weren't being overworked.   
Harry had very carefully manipulated all the arguments that he held   
with Gunn over how hard he was training his students within hearing   
range of one or the other. It was all a careful plot to get them to be   
loyal to Ginny, if not to him.   
  
Besides, she was going to be the Queen. He, and Draco, and Hermione and   
maybe Ron were going to be the vigilantes that worked without the   
Queen's directive, and no one knew that they were friends with the   
woman.  
  
In Harry's mind, it was the perfect plan to be able to keep his Balance   
from becoming lopsided. If Ginny was acting "of the light" then they   
would act "of the dark". If Ginny was "evil", they'd be "good". It was   
all a matter of balance.   
  
Harry.  
  
Hermione's presence rippled to fill a space in his mind he hadn't   
realized was empty until she was there.  
  
Yeeeeeessssss? he drawled, amused, and completely ignoring his sulking   
from a few minute earlier, What can I do for the pretty lady?  
  
He got the impression he was getting a Glare O'death from her, I know   
very well that Living Weapons don't feel any sexual desire.   
  
You're still pretty, he pouted.  
  
Ouuuuuu, whatever! Look, we've managed to find a spell that can be   
cast... and according to Ron's visions--  
  
He finally decided to accept them, then?  
  
--I have to hurt you for keeping this away from me. Anyways, according   
to Ron's visions, only one person in the castle at this time can cast   
the spell. Also, the room has to be completely empty, or else you'll   
never be able to remove anything from inside it. You're essentially   
created a bubble of magic in which you can speed everything up as fast   
as you like, or even go as slow as you like. You could have a day pass   
in there, and have it be millennia outside, or vice versa.   
  
Good work. Who's the one who can cast the spell?  
  
You'll like this one, she laughed, It's Malfoy.  
  
Dragon? Weapon finally butted in on the conversation, I was... unaware   
that he was so powerful a wizard.  
  
He's not my level, Hermione returned, but he's fairly strong in natural   
ability. It's a requirement of the spell, you can only have a certain   
range of power for it. I'm to strong, and everyone else is to weak.   
Malfoy's perfect for it.  
  
Good, Weapon nodded to himself, contact Dragon about this.  
  
And find out the largest the room can get! Harry called cheerfully as   
Hermione slipped out of his consciousness.  
  
He came back to reality to find Dean, Lizza, and the other students   
back in the center of the room, chatting idly.  
  
"If you've got the energy to talk, you've got the energy to practice!"   
the teenager shouted, "Begin again!"  
  
There was a collective groan.  
  
---  
  
"She took all I ever had... no sign of guilt, not feelin' bad..."   
  
Draco blinked as the seventh year Ravenclaws-- he couldn't remember the   
name off hand, continued to intermittently sing and hum as he wander   
the halls, nose jammed in a book, "L-l-l-l-ove, She fuckin' hates   
me..."  
  
"What are you singing?" he was genuinely curious for once. He'd never   
heard anything like that. Then again, Wizarding music just tended   
towards being boring old chants, unchanged since the fourteenth   
century. The Ravenclaw jumped, startled, blinking wide, clear umber   
eyes at the younger teen.  
  
"Shit Malfoy, you startled me."  
  
"What were you singing?" Draco repeated, staring curiously at the   
seventh year. He was a mudblood, that much he knew. Other than that,   
anything and everything about this member of the Over-Achievers Club of   
Hogwarts was unknown to him. The pureblood wondered if there were a   
large number of muggles with multicolored hair. This seventeen year old   
had wild blonde and red hair, with thin streaks of blue and purple   
through out it.   
  
The seventeen year old ran his fingers through his hair, "She Hates Me,   
by Puddle of Mudd."  
  
"Puddle of Mudd?" the pureblood wondered curiously. Puddles could talk?  
  
The Ravenclaw grinned widely, slinging an arm around Malfoy's   
shoulders. For a moment, the Weapon thought about knocking his arm   
away, or even just shifting back into his natural form-- having become   
human while he slunk through the halls; he stood out less-- and cutting   
his arm off, but the multicolored haired one was already talking,   
"They're a muggle musical band. I had my sister burn a bunch of songs   
for my discman, and had it enchanted so it works on magic instead of   
batteries-- can't stand wizard music. Bloody boring, if you ask me."  
  
The older teen was guiding Draco through the halls, excitedly lecturing   
about the plus points of muggle music over wizarding, and chattering on   
about the problems of attempting to learn how to play a bass guitar   
while at Hogwarts, and without instruction, and how it was just _so_   
rewarding to know he had done that _and_ managed to keep good grades so   
his parents couldn't read his the riot act.  
  
And that was how Potter found his second in command-- lounging in an   
empty classroom, somehow having been convinced to beat upon a set of   
drums the Ravenclaw had summoned, while said Ravenclaw goofed off on   
his bass guitar. They weren't really creating music, just sound, but   
Draco was getting a kick out of the drums. Muggles were quite   
inventive-- creating a musical instrument to bash the hell out of when   
they were pissed off. Why hadn't wizards thought of that?  
  
Oh, right, Wizards rarely did anything without their wands.  
  
Harry blinked several times at the scene, "Draco...?"  
  
The pale haired one looked up with a grin, setting the sticks down,   
"Hullo Potter!"  
  
"What are you doing...?"  
  
"Taking inventive anger management classes," grinned the multicolored   
haired one. Harry belatedly recognized him as one of the students who,   
at the beginning of the year, had thought Harry had been 'damned   
awesome' with all his piercing, and had said so right to his face.   
Nathaniel... something or other.   
  
He tipped his head in greeting, "Hey Nate. Bladewhip, we've found the   
spell."  
  
"....and?"  
  
Draco and Nate shuddered as Harry pulled a pair of doe-eyes and a   
sickly sweet smile on them, "You're the only one who can do the spell,   
Dragon."  
  
Draco sighed, staring longingly at the drumset, and Nate laughed, "I'll   
leave it here for you to bang on, Malfoy. See you 'round Potter."  
  
And he left. Harry scratched his head, "Wow."  
  
"Wow what?"  
  
"He's not scared of me," the amazed teen blinked rapidly, "Didn't even   
flinch when I looked at him."  
  
"Probably locked himself into his music," Draco padded out of the room,   
waiting until Harry had slipped out before locking it with the Power,   
"Did you know that muggles have some seriously inventive music?"  
  
"Compared to Wizarding music, laughing hyenas are inventive," was   
Harry's dry response, "But yeah, I knew."  
  
"And you didn't _tell_ me?!"  
  
"I didn't think you'd be interested!"  
  
"Pooooootter!!"  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Yeah, stupid ending, but I thought was light hearted fluff would be   
nice. I have no idea if Nate will show up again or not. Lizza won't, I   
just needed someone for Dean to be dukin' it out with, that I didn't   
have to bother with writing back into the story.  
  
What's the general consensus? Should Nate be Draco's   
Anger-Management-Man, or fade back into obscurity until some crucial   
battle, where he pops up for a few seconds to belt someone in the face   
with his bass guitar? *grins* Stupid image, I know. But funny as hell. 


	43. Dammit

Recently redyed my hair. Blue is such an awesome color...  
  
Maxennce - You missed twenty chapters? Wow, you were out of town for   
quite a while, hey? *grins* He's head honcho of the group he's running   
but... well, it's not so likely he's the head of everything. To be   
safe, for now... just think of him as a general or some such rank.  
  
me3gogi - I know the feeling, you're just getting tot he good part--   
and some idiot hurtles you off the computer to "do something   
productive", or so that they can play their StarTrek games. *mumbles*   
That's why we bought him a new computer. So he could play them in his   
own room... Hope your sister's cat gets better. I know how depressing   
it can be when a pet gets ill.   
  
Melissa Lupin - Puddle of Mudd is good. Yes it is. ^___^  
  
Tris - ... I Am The Bunny Slayer? Cute handle. Any relation to Anya   
from BtVS? Er... anyways... Nate is now a semi-important character,   
but he's still going to play councilor for Draco. Dragon-boy needs it.  
  
SaGGiTaRiuS000 - Keeping Nate. *grins* He's so fun to mess with...   
  
Esperanza Fuega - You're welcome to use Nate in Taken by the Wind   
(which I went and read, and then had scary dreams of Nate running   
around in that world...)  
  
Fire-Mage - You know, maybe if you stopped highlighting and hitting   
delete your messages would stick around. XD Just Kidding. Personally,   
the Itch like Metal and Punk, with a couple songs from everything else   
thrown in for spice.  
  
Weirdo - Canadian born and bred ^___^  
  
Queen of Vegetasei - I'm just that good...? Romance has never been my   
thing, so the not writing of it seems very possible to me.   
  
Jezy (JeZeBel) - I'm still reading your review... ^.^;; It's   
scary-long.  
  
Alright Everyone! _Three_ URLs to give out today!  
  
As always, my RPG: http://icetemple.tripod.com/ which is still lacking   
several members.  
  
Anger Management: http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=1199296  
(Description at end of fic)  
  
An American Weapon: http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=1191505   
Black Rose's awesome Spin-Off  
  
I still lack ownership over anyone but Nathaniel Calaveras.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Forty Three : Dammit  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
Nathaniel Calaveras set his guitar down, blinking up at one Draco   
Malfoy in surprise, "You want me to _what_?"  
  
Bladewhip paced the floor, arms crossed and head bowed, "I want you to   
be our liaison between the Ministry and the Castle. Potter authorized   
it."  
  
Nate frowned, "Malfoy, my friend, I'm a muggle-born, definitely not the   
best choice for this job."  
  
"Look, Nate, everyone else is training except you--"  
  
"If you're trying to blackmail me, I'm not buyin'."  
  
"I'm not blackmailing you!" Malfoy snapped, irritated, "Yeah, I know   
all about what happened with you and Cyliess-- hell, most of Slytherin   
did-- but I'm not about to go blabbing it to the rest of the world."   
  
Nate winced at Cyliess' name, turning to stare out the window of the   
classroom the pair were holed up in. It was... hard to think about the   
brown haired Slytherin boy that had been his only sort-of-friend. It   
was still fresh, the memory of... of... he could feel tears pricking at   
the corners of his eyes, and he reached desperately for his bass   
guitar. Once in his hands, he began strumming along to a tune in his   
head, his emotions flowing out through the music.   
  
Draco rubbed his forehead, unamused. He shouldn't have brought up   
Cyliess; Schlatter's suicide hadn't been all that long ago, and Nate   
had been the one to find the body... "Nate!"  
  
"Huh...?" as if being drawn from a trance, Nate looked up, blinking   
slowly, "Oh, right, the liaison job. Draco, I'm not cut out to play   
peacekeeper."  
  
"It's only until we can move into position to wipe out Voldemort," both   
teens jumped, whirling to face Sirius, who stood in the door, "As soon   
as we're done that, the Ministry can be wiped out."  
  
Nate sighed, "I guess... Hey, Black, have you found Professor Lupin   
yet?"  
  
Sirius scratched at the hairs at the back of his neck a bit nervously,   
"Er... Remus is... ah, somewhere in Japan right now. That's where   
Dumbledore sent him before Christmas hols, in any case."  
  
"In other words, he doesn't have any clue," Draco translated with a   
grin, "So, you'll take the job, Nate?"  
  
"I don't have a choice in this, do I?"  
  
"Nope," rang two voices.  
  
---  
  
Ginny stepped out of the room that had been unofficially dubbed the   
"Training Chamber", mopping sweat from her head. She'd spent a day   
within the enchanted chambers-- Draco had cast the spell the night   
prior-- which was the equivalent of six months, thanks to the spell,   
training long and hard. Periodically, others would enter and leave,   
training for a day or week or month, trying to get up to the level   
Harry wanted his 'warriors' to be at.  
  
The six months she'd spent locked up in the room had allowed her to   
grow her hair out once again, but she cut the majority of it off thanks   
to a chance encounter with Katar. The older Weapon had caught her by   
the hair-- tied in a plait to keep it out of her face-- and swung her   
around like a ragdoll. To ensure it would never happen again, she'd   
reluctantly cut off the hair, leaving a wild red mop. Katar had been   
kind enough to clean up the cut, confessing that Fudge had used him as   
a personal barber of sorts during his tenure as the man's bodyguard.  
  
So Ginny's wild red mane of hair was two or three inches long atop her   
skull, and closely shapes in the back, giving her a bit of a shaggy   
bowl cut.   
  
She dropped the towel around her shoulders, yawning as she drifted   
though the halls. Harry had not been kidding when he'd said the chamber   
would be helpful. This did _not_ mean that it was the only place in the   
castle in which they would train; in fact, the chamber was designated   
as a place to train only if one was serious about being one of the   
Warriors for the Balance.  
  
So tired in her movements was she, that she was surprised by Ron   
seemingly appearing from no where, seconds before she collided with   
him. Her youngest older brother caught her, carefully keeping both of   
them on their feet, and he offered her a lopsided grin, "A bit out of   
sorts, Gin?"  
  
"A bit," she replied with a faint smile, "Just finished trainin', and   
I'm beat."  
  
"That was really bad, Ginny."  
  
"I know," she giggled a bit, "So, what are you doing out so late?"  
  
"I was looking for you, actually," Ron fell into step beside his sister   
as they moved through the halls, "Harry said that he's putting some   
bloke named Nathaniel in position to get information from the Ministry   
of Magic, and that he'd use that info to find You-Know-Who's location."  
  
"You should call him by his name, mein brother," she snickered at his   
partially terrified, partially annoyed look, "You're just feeding him   
more power. So, we're ready to move onto Part B?"  
  
He nodded slowly, "Yeah. I don't get it, Gin. If you're working for   
this 'Balance' thing... why did you eliminate all the good guys...?"  
  
"They were closer," she replied truthfully, turning to her brother, and   
setting her hands on his shoulders, looking up to stare earnestly into   
his eyes, "Look, Ron, Voldemort is far to powerful. Even _with_   
Dumbledore, his 'darkness' outweighed the 'light' by two to one. If we   
rid the world of Voldemort first, the ratio would have been switched.   
It was a matter of who was closer, and how long Harry's patience would   
last. I could bet you thirty galleons that if Harry had been allowed to   
go to Hogwarts without the wards, he'd have taken Riddle out first,   
before moving onto Dumbledore."  
  
"But," Ron injected, "Professor Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape had   
those wards in place before he could even begin his plans, right?"  
  
"Right."  
  
The older redhead tilted his head to stare up at the stone ceiling, "So   
Harry's been under lock and key for five months. Knowing about his   
living in a cupboard, I can understand him being leery of being   
controlled."  
  
"Exactly," his sister nodded, "So, once he got the wards off, he wanted   
to wreak bloody havoc, and get his vengeance. Hence what happened three   
days ago."  
  
"It makes sense," Ron crossed his arms, "Even if I don't want it too.   
Did they really have to die?"  
  
"Everyone dies, Ron. No one is immortal, even Weapons. We'll last a   
hell of a lot longer than most people, but we won't last forever.   
Besides, they died to further the Balance. Their souls will either be   
reborn, or used to fortify the Balance."  
  
"And what really matters is the Balance...?"  
  
"Of course," Ginny smiled at her brother, "The Balance will allow   
everyone to live together, and free, without prejudice. Muggle-born and   
pureblood, muggle and wizard, human and elven, mythical and mystical.   
Light, and Dark. It will all be one."  
  
The two continued to walk in silence for several long minutes,   
contemplating what had been said, and done over the past couple weeks.   
Then an impish gleam entered Ron's eyes.  
  
"You know..."  
  
"...Hmmm?"  
  
"Mom's going to kill you when she sees your hair!"  
  
---  
  
Weapon and Enchantress were huddled over a large tome when the rest of   
the Living Weapons plus Ron entered the former headmaster's office.   
Fawkes was no where in sight, and had not even been around when they   
had confiscated the room as their personal meeting place.   
  
"Well...?" Weapon asked, distractedly, as he stared down at the book,   
Harry humming a little tune in the back of their joint mind.   
  
"Nate's agreed," Sirius informed their unofficial leader with a wry   
grin, "He was a bit hesitant at first, but eventually agreed."  
  
"That's nice," mused Hermione, still entirely focused on the words that   
were beginning to blur before her eyes, "Anything else?"  
  
"What are we going to do about our parents?" Ron wondered, scratching   
the back of his neck, "I mean, it's not like Gin an' me can waltz into   
The Burrow, declare that we've overthrown Dumbledore, and are no in   
control of Hogwarts. They won't believe us."  
  
"Good question," Draco muttered, "I know what I'm going to do about   
Lucius-- kick his little white ass for the hell he's put me through   
over the years."  
  
"We'll wait," Weapon informed them, abruptly cutting off to curse under   
his breath and break his own emotionless image to glare evilly at the   
large book. Hermione was doing much the same, considering there were a   
handful of pages missing.  
  
"What's wrong?" Ron leaned over to peer at the book, his fingers just   
lightly brushing it, before he stiffened and a vision over took him. It   
was wild and chaotic, as all his visions were, and damned hard to   
understand. He could see... wait, was that...?   
  
Was that Lily Potter...?   
  
No, she was to young. It had to have been Lily Evans, while she was   
still in Hogwarts. Whatever she was doing in the visions, she was   
abruptly hidden by a waterfall of torn papers, and once those were   
gone, all that remained was the... Ravenclaw common room? What did that   
have to do with anything? Oh, it was so confusing!  
  
"Ron?" Dart was waving a hand in front of his godson's friend's face,   
"Ron, are you okay?"  
  
"He was taken by a vision," Malfoy responded tartly, "Or did you forget   
he was a clairvoyant, dogboy?"  
  
Sirius' eye twitched, and he jumped to his feet, ready to pummel the   
younger Living Weapon, when Ron slumped forwards, choking on the air as   
he gasped massive quantities into his lungs.  
  
"What did you see?" Weapon commanded an answer, Enchantress watching   
curiously.  
  
Ron lifted his head, eyes still somewhat gazed, "Ravenclaw... common   
room... Lily... Your mom, I mean..." he shook his head out, "She was...   
ripping pages out of the book...? I'm not sure. It didn't make much   
sense."  
  
"Damn..."  
  
"So," Ginny posed the question, "What are you looking at, anyway?"  
  
"An encyclopedia of the great wizards and witches, and how they died,"   
Hermione responded.  
  
"Not to mention," Weapon morphed back into Harry, "It's got some   
serious data on mythological creatures. Did you know that House Elves   
are a mixture of goblins and some outcast high elves?"  
  
The Weapons shared a look, and Draco muttered, "Why would anything but   
a goblin want to mate with a goblin?"  
  
"No idea," Harry returned cheerfully, "But there are all these bloody   
awesome mythological creatures in this book. Like the High Elves. Have   
you ever heard of a High Elf before?"  
  
There was a round of 'no's, up until Malfoy responded, "I have. Cyliess   
Schlatter talked about them in his sleep."  
  
There were a couple of curious looks, and Ron asked the question   
burning in their minds, "Who's Schlatter?"  
  
"Was," corrected the blonde Slytherin, "He was the Slytherin who killed   
himself Christmas Eve."  
  
"The seventh year?" Hermione hiked an eyebrow, "Malfoy, _how_ do you   
know what a seventh year talks about in his sleep?"  
  
"He liked to fall asleep in the common room!" Draco protested her   
hidden question with a scowl, "Like I said, he talked about High Elves   
in his sleep, but not much else. Unless it were those dream about some   
girl called Marie Calaveras."  
  
"Calaveras?" Virginia blinked, "Hey, it's that Nate's family name?"  
  
"Marie's his older sister," Hermione replied, and upon the looks she   
got, rolled her eyes, "I've talked to him once or twice before. He had   
the highest grades of all the Seventh Years."  
  
"Right, right, whatever," Draco rolled his eyes, "Can we get back on   
topic here? Why are you looking at that book, Potter?"  
  
"Hoping to find someone in it as powerful as a Weapon?" teased Dart.  
  
"Actually, yes," Granger smiled benevolently at the now sputtering   
animagus, "We were hoping to find the name of a First Generation   
Weapon, and find out how he was killed. That's all Riddle is, after   
all: a member of the First Generation. We could use what's in this book   
to discover a way to defeat him. Unfortunately, according to Ron,   
Harry's mum ripped out the pages with any pertinent information on   
them."  
  
"So we have to find the pages?" Sirius made a face.  
  
"Yes," Harry nodded with a cheerfully inane grin, "Looks like we're   
going on a Treasure Hunt!"  
  
"Oh, _this_ will be fun," Virginia muttered, scowling dourly.  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
I feel this chapter is -bleh-.   
  
If you want to learn about Cyliess Schlatter and his connections to   
Nate, read the side story 'Anger Management'. It's basically a shorted   
Blackened Sunrise from Nate's Point of View, up until the day Nate   
finds Schlatter's body. They have a bit of an adventure in the middle,   
however, so it's not completely boring and stupid.   
  
It involves the High Elves, that are likely to not be seen or heard of   
again until after the Ministry of Magic is overthrown. 


	44. Rabbit

Eh, sorry for the lack of update yesterday; I actually got some sleep   
last night, surprise-surprise. Right shocked me it did. And, since I   
can't stand to have not put three chapters up in one go, I'll (try) to   
get one up tomarrow (if not then, then wednesday).  
  
lollipozz - *nods* Yeah, I know. FF.net likes not 'llowing us multiple   
reviews per chapter. I think it's to keep up from spamming. Ah-ha! I   
have UPDATED SOON! *poses, and joins in the manacial laughter from your   
ch43 review*  
  
sephiroth - You know, I never actually thought about that. I just went   
though a list of names in my head and went, hey, that one sounds cool!   
Knowing me, I probably subconsciously remembered it ^__^ I do that   
alot.  
  
jasmyn - You reviewed lots...  
  
Weird - Quite... possibily. Maybe not. Elves are fun.  
  
An American Weapon: http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=1191505   
Black Rose's awesome Spin-Off  
  
Never fear, it's still here: http://icetemple.tripod.com/   
Still lacking members. -.-;;  
  
Retyping this again and again, is really tiring. I don't own Harry   
Potter.   
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Forty-Four: Rabbit  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
There are few things in this world more annoying than finding out that   
your pet cat has just clawed the hell out of your furniture.  
  
Finding out that you no longer had any spies in your enemy's stronghold   
is one of them. Therefore, Tom "Lord Voldemort" Riddle, had a fairly   
valid excuse for throwing a temper tantrum like a two year old.   
  
His classy apartment, situated atop his muggle "medical" research   
facility had been torn to absolute shreds. The only thing not looking   
any worse for wear was Rilos, and that was only because the oversized,   
stuffed blue snake had been draped over his shoulders like a feather   
boa. To say he was upset would be an understatement. The children of   
his death eaters had been spies, and all those that had been in   
Hogwarts had either died or defected to whomever was in control over   
there-- he had no idea, since Dumbledore was now, officially, deceased.   
Snape, the spy he liked to toy with the most, was still alive, but   
Voldemort assumed it was to be tortured for information.  
  
It wasn't like Snape broadcast that he was a spy to anyone but   
Dumbledore. And it was highly unlikely that anyone would believe him,   
what with the dark mark burned into his arm.  
  
But not only that... good old Daemon Wolfos was dead.   
  
His best friend. Dead!  
  
Whoever killed him would pay!  
  
Raging, he began to pick up the broken furniture and slam it repeatedly   
into the walls and floor, making several incoherent noises as he did   
so. Grief was a funny thing. Especially when one did not wish to admit   
that he was actually grieving. He was just... in a rage because he's   
lost his informants, and Wolfos.   
  
Oh, and he was planning the brutal demise of his best friend's killer.  
  
---  
  
"Always we search for the answers, but nothing is found... we fly away   
again... I will, fly away again, oh I will, fly away again. And I feel   
rain pouring down... I wait to run away, live again," Nathaniel   
whispered under his breath, bobbing his head to the familiar tunes of   
Godsmack. He'd memorized all the songs on the disc Marie had given   
him-- not to mention on the other discs he'd had her burn since they'd   
gotten a CD burner a few years back-- and was now trying to calm his   
rattled nerves.  
  
He was in the Head Office of the Ministry of Magic, hidden beneath   
Draco's-- Harry absolutely refused to let Calaveras borrow his--   
Invisibility Cloak, creeping around in a desperate attempt to find   
Fudge or some other high ranking official. According to Harry, he was   
supposed to be depositing a letter on one of the higher-ups' desk, to   
be found... whenever.  
  
He'd already visited the Daily Prophet building, depositing a "special   
article" on Rita Skeeter's desk. Hermione had written it in such a way   
that Rita wouldn't _have_ to change all that much about it to make is   
as outrageously impossible. Skeeter would print what they wanted, and   
nothing else. Heh, the article had a compulsion charm on it, to make   
sure that she read it, and put it in the wizarding newspaper.   
  
They were going to make sure that _nothing_ went wrong. Manipulation   
was one of a Malfoy's best skills, and Draco was putting his talents to   
the test; if everything went off without a hitch, things were be   
perfect. Even if things went wrong, Ron's clairvoyant talent would give   
them an idea of how to fix things, so that the Balance would come into   
being the way it was supposed to.  
  
It was a brilliant plan. One that hinged on the idiocy of Fudge, and   
the downfall of both Ministry and Voldemort.   
  
Nate supported it with what was left of his shattered soul. Even if the   
bitter thought that if the Weapons had merely started their plots even   
a month earlier, his sort-of... okay, his best friend wouldn't have   
killed himself. There would have been a focus other than the fact that   
the brown-haired Slytherin would be pressured into becoming a Death   
Eater by his step-father.   
  
He shook his head of such melancholy thoughts as he reached the door   
labeled "Minister of Magic: Cornelius Fudge". He was very careful,   
opening the door slowly, and peering in before slipping inside. Oh, he   
knew Katar had said that it was unlikely there was actually any traps   
or whatnot, but... well... Nate had seen a _lot_ of muggle movies, and   
he wasn't up for being killed for doing something stupid.  
  
"Consider me your apprentice, repented, yet hesitant... Please, show me   
a sign... come inside..." he hummed, having switched tracks from   
Godsmack to Alien Ant Farm at some point. The office was empty, for   
which he was eternally grateful for. Steps as quiet as he could make   
them, he crept up to the desk, withdrawing a note from within his   
robes.  
  
The Ravenclaw was wearing gloves, just incase one of the wizards was   
  
smart enough to do a dusting for fingerprints. Not that wizards would   
ever use something that mundane-- which was why the note had been   
written by Gunn, while under polyjuice potion, which would make her   
look like one of the recently deceased students at Hogwarts. Not only   
that, but his gloves had been sprayed with some potion that was   
supposed to prevent tracking.   
  
Being found out at this stage of the game was not in the plans.  
  
With the note delivered, the multicolored haired teenager slipped back   
out of the office, dodging workers here and there. He was almost   
skittishly afraid to touch anything female. Once he was outside, and a   
good four blocks away, he breathed a sigh of relief, sweeping the cloak   
off, and jamming it into the small pack on his back. He'd had to forgo   
bring his bass guitar, which annoyed him to no end, but hell be damned   
if he wasn't going to bring something to occupy that space on his back   
that felt so odd, so cold, without it's comforting presence. Hence that   
helpful little backpack.  
  
Which was all that more helpful, thirty seconds later, when the white   
rabbit with purple, blue and red streaks in it's fur managed to crawl   
out of it's clothing. An annoyed scowl was sent in the direction of the   
woman that had slamming into him and caused his transformation, idly   
noting that neither she-- nor anyone else-- had noted the change. He   
really, really, really, _really_ hated Schlatter's relatives' ideas of   
"punishment".   
  
With a bunny-grumble, the rabbit awkwardly shoved his robes into his   
back, and wriggled into the straps of the backpack, waiting for the   
magic imbued material to resize for his bunny-body size and shape. Once   
that happened, he shot off in a random direction.  
  
Now he just had to go find someone female to hug him, so that he could   
change back.   
  
---  
  
They were in the Ravenclaw common room, searching for pages and papers   
that had been ripped out a good two decades earlier.  
  
Like Harry had said: This was going to be so much _fun_.   
  
Ginny kicked at one of the plush navy arm chairs in frustration. They'd   
been in here for three hours already, and hadn't found any reason that   
they should even be in the room. There was absolutely no sign of the   
papers. Not that anyone aside from Harry had expected them to still be   
there.  
  
It _had_ been twenty years, after all.  
  
And what _exactly_, was their esteemed leader doing? Trying to become   
one with the wall? Curious, the short-haired teenager padded quietly   
over to his side, attempting to see what was so great about the wall   
that Harry was pressed flat against it, up on his tip-toes, fingers   
extended all the way.  
  
"Harry...?"  
  
"Hold on, just a sec," he muttered into the stone of the room,   
stretching to get all that much more reach. Then, like he'd suddenly   
realized something, and he was just being really stupid, he stepped   
back, and Weapon came forwards, shooting him from five to seven feet in   
height. It was much easier to reach the small indentation that had   
called the sixteen year old's attention, now. The winged monstrosity   
that the good students and staff of Hogwarts had pledged their   
allegiance to slipped taloned finger-tips into the crack, silver eyes   
lighting up as they came in contact with... something.  
  
There was a soft 'click' that echoed throughout the commons, calling   
the attention of Hermione, Ron, Draco, Sirius, and Katar. But it was   
only for a moment that they looked towards Potter, because seconds   
later there was the grinding screech of something stone moving across   
more stone, and the far wall-- to Harry-- dropped into the floor,   
leaving a deep, dark passage in it's wake. They gave only a few moments   
of contemplation on why, exactly, magic had not been used, before   
Hermione helpfully supplied that the castle had been designed and built   
by muggles, then sold to wizards, who enchanted it.   
  
Obviously, they never bothered to remove some of the original muggle   
secret passage entrances. Shrugging to one another, the group-- minus   
Katar and Sirius, who had promised a group of second years to train,   
and were already ten minutes late-- entered the darkness, wondering   
what they'd find. Ron decided to be helpful, withdrawing his wand and   
muttering "Lumos".   
  
The magical light flickered oddly off the inner workings of the   
passage, jutting corners casting dark shadows, and generally being   
creepy. Ron very, very, very carefully steered his mind away form the   
thought that spiders could be living in the dark. The rest of the   
group, Weapons and Enchantress, felt no reason to be disturbed by the   
darkness, and used Ron's wand much like a flashlight as they dived   
deeper, and deeper into the pits of Hogwarts.  
  
Harry made a note to himself to remember to change the name to   
something more... befitting of the Balance. The Center couldn't have a   
name that didn't fit with his plans. It had to be something...   
impressive. And even though Hogwarts was known wizarding-world wide, it   
just... didn't sound right, for a place that would house the soon to be   
ruler of both muggle and wizarding worlds, Gunn.   
  
He briefly wondered if he should gather up the rest of the Living   
Weapons world wide, before setting himself back on task. Finding a way   
to eliminate Tom Marvolo Riddle for good.  
  
---  
  
Dean Thomas blinked several times as a rather... colorful... rabbit   
made it's way past him as he stretched out his back from a rather   
painful work out at the hands of Sirius Black. He was just glad that he   
only had to stick around for fifteen minutes before claiming he'd been   
training for a couple hours, just so he could escape. The convict was   
very, very, very scary when he got it into his head that everyone   
needed training. He wished Professor Lupin was at the school.  
  
Ron had said that Lupin had managed to keep Black's more...   
psychotic... ideas checked. Most of the time. He _really_ wanted Lupin   
here, just so he wouldn't have to go through that exercise again.  
  
Which is what he blamed the colorful rabbit on. There was no way a   
snowy white rabbit could have blue, purple and red markings. Just no   
way.  
  
However, the non-existent rabbit was getting very annoyed. He'd been   
running around trying to find someone to change him back-- after   
apparating near schools grounds; hey he was seventeen, he had a   
license!-- and not being all that successful of it. Finally, he decided   
that he would track down Hermione or Virginia and get one of them to   
change him back.   
  
Preferably Ginny, since he had been told about the Weapons' lack of   
sexual urges. She might tease him, but he wouldn't have to worry about   
her jumping him.   
  
Yes, Nathaniel Calaveras was deathly afraid of girls hitting on him. He   
was perfectly fine with friendships with girls, and he could flirt like   
a pro-- but he would always start freaking out if one flirted back. And   
not a normal, quiet type of freaking out, where they end up stuttering   
and blushing. This was serious freaking out.  
  
The kind that generally had the person who was freaking out running   
away at top speed, and eventually slamming headlong into a wall, or a   
door, or a desk or something that stopped momentum. Nate had once run   
headlong into the forbidden forest while freaking out. It was not   
exactly something he liked to broadcast; his ability to go stark raving   
bonkers when confronted with a girl hitting on him.   
  
Girls were scary.  
  
Which made his punishment all that more effective, considering he'd   
never willingly go to a girl to get hugged and changed back to normal.   
This also explained why he never let girls touch him; well, he never   
let them touch him _before_ Schlatter's family had cursed him, but it   
was even a better excuse now. Anything more than a handshake with   
someone of the female side of the species had him turning into a cute   
widdle bunny rabbit.  
  
Now, if he could only _find_ Miss Weasley, everything would be A-okay.   
  
Too bad for him, that she was skulking around in the bowels of   
Hogwarts, looking for the missing pages of a oversized, ancient   
textbook, ripped up by one Lily Evans. Poor Nate.  
  
Looks like he's going to be stuck as a rabbit for a little bit longer.   
Heh.  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
I had a bit of writer's block about what I was going to do with the   
Weapons, so I decided we were going to follow Nate around for a little   
bit, so that I can figure out what I want them to do.  
  
Black Rose; I figure I should write a couple characters out so that   
they can go play with Rosanna. I just don't know when I should do that.   
Or how, for that matter... ^.^;; Hmm, maybe we should talk about this   
over email, so that we can figure it out...? 


	45. Upwards

Lady Russell Holmes - You like Yu-Gi-Ou? Then a nice plug for Leigh's   
Yu-Gi-Ou site: http://www.finalknight.net/scales/   
  
ROUGE-sorceress - Comatose is a word. I don't know what Wolfos' spell   
was, but I'm pretty sure Tommy-boy knows it. Hmmm... you hast   
offically given me some nice ideas, mwahahahahahahahaha!  
  
Akuma-sama - *bows* Crazy I be, yes indeed. Dumbledore the   
PuppetMaster. Makes for an interesting theory... here's another bit of   
a conspiracy to dangle before you-- Dumbledore was one of Riddle's   
professors.   
  
Black Rose - Same email ^__^. Heh, maybe Rosanna could get him over   
his fear of girls? *snickers* That would make for an... amusing scene,   
to say the least.  
  
Tris - I made him a bunny because it's supposed to be a punishment.   
Nate's being punished for... things... that happened in Anger   
Management (wherein, we have yet to get to that point), so Schlatter's   
family gave him a bunny-rabbit curse. (Not unlike the Juunishi curse   
in Furuba/Fruits Basket). Nate's pretty cute, you have to under stand   
that-- hehehe, everyone seems to like him, ne?-- so you'd have to   
assume girls chase after him. He's in a bit of a bad spot, no? Scared   
of girls, but oh-so hot.  
  
An American Weapon: http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=1191505   
Black Rose's awesome Spin-Off  
  
No one seems to want to play... http://icetemple.tripod.com/   
  
...   
  
Harry Potter is still not mine.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Forty-Five : Upwards  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
Wander.  
  
Wander-wander.  
  
Wander-wander-wander.  
  
Wander-wander-wan--  
  
"BLOODY HELL, WOULD YOU SHUT THE HELL UP?!"  
  
The rest of the group turned to stare curiously at Malfoy, who was   
scowling angrily at the floor. Ron wondered aloud if he'd gone   
insane, or something, and Virginia returned that he'd _always_ been   
insane. Draco retorted that Hak had been chanting. The disembodied   
voice had a bad habit of annoying Draco as much as it bloody well   
could, bitched the dragon.  
  
Yes, he was in a bad mood.  
  
You would be too, if you'd just spent the last two hours wandering   
the darkness of the "secret passages" of Hogwarts School of   
Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the three hours before that searching   
the Ravenclaw Common Room in search for the missing pages of a book,   
ripped out two decades earlier by their leader's deceased mother. He   
had _reasons_ for being so irritable, and Hak's annoying chanting   
didn't make it any better.  
  
And suddenly, they were at a dead end. Sighing, the group began to   
search the cold, stone wall for any sign of another trap entrance   
like the one in the commons that allowed them into the passage in the   
first place-- unfortunately, there didn't seem to be any such thing.   
Scowling, Ron punched the wall, annoyed to high hell that they'd have   
to back track, and try to find another passage.  
  
Of course, that plan was blown to high hell when Ron's knuckles   
impacted with the stone. With a yelp and a flash of ruby light, Ron   
went flying backwards, crashing into the ground a good twenty-feet   
back. Virginia and Hermione raced to his side, helping the battered   
and bruised clairvoyant to his feet.  
  
"Ron! Are you alright?" Hermione worriedly checked his eyes in their   
meager lighting in an attempt to see if he had a concussion. After a   
moment, he shook his head out and gave a low whistle.  
  
"One image," he ground out through grit teeth, "Evans on a broom."   
He'd gotten the flash as he'd been flung through the air, whatever   
charms and spells on the wall preventing him from being able to   
accurately 'read' the past with his clairvoyant talents.   
  
"A broom...?" echoed Gunn, turning a confused gaze to Potter, "Why   
would you mother have a broom down here? Why would she even been in   
the Ravenclaw Commons in the first place...?"  
  
"Mom was a Ravenclaw," Harry shrugged with a rueful grin, "S'why   
everyone compares me to my father-- he was a Gryffindor, she was not.   
I don't know why she'd have a broom in here."  
  
"Don't such an idiot, Potter," snorted Bladewhip, and the other   
Living Weapon turned to find the fair haired teenager with his head   
tilted back, staring up into black nothingness. Ron directed his wand   
up.  
  
And up, and up and up. Obviously, a passage.  
  
"None of us have brooms..." Ginny grumbled, "There's no way we can   
get up there."  
  
"I can," both Hermione and Harry returned. Harry's eyes   
twinkled, "Weapon has wings, remember?"  
  
"And I can levitate myself up," the genius woman smiled.   
  
"Ron's not going anywhere," Virginia returned calmly, when it looked   
like her brother was about to ask them to fly him up, "Maybe _after_   
you recover from your previous flying experience."  
  
"Har-de-har-har."  
  
"I though it was funny," she smiled widely at him, before turning   
back to the other three, "Looks like you're on your own, guys. I'll   
take Ronnikins back the way we came."  
  
"Alright then," Harry watched the two red heads trudge out, the space   
around them darkening as Ron's wand-light vanished around a corner in   
the passage.   
  
The two Living Weapons automatically shifted into their true forms,   
turning to Hermione only to see her inscribe the last rune into the   
air. Their night-vision showed her smiling brightly, "Cat-Eyes. A   
very useful charm."  
  
"There's light enough to reflect down here?" wondered Draco, and   
Weapon cuffed him on the back of the head, wary of the spines that   
decorated his scalp.  
  
"How do you think _your_ eyes worked, Dragon?"  
  
"Oh, right," with a hop, the sixteen year old was up on the wall,   
digging his claws in to drag himself up. Sparks of red magic   
flickered over his hands and he winced, but it wasn't enough to deter   
him, as he began to drag himself upwards. The two with flight   
capabilities watched for several moments, until Draco got a good pace   
going.   
  
Harry likened the sight to watching Knuckles from Sonic the Hedgehog   
3 and Knuckles climbing the walls in the videogame.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes, hearing his thoughts. You _really_ need to   
lay off the videogames, Potter. Hey... where are you getting   
videogames in Hogwarts, anyways?  
  
Ah... the insane one chuckled, as Weapon spread his wings and bent   
his legs. With a powerful leap, he was in the air, beating his four   
massive wings at a leisurely pace to keep up with Malfoy. The   
teenager continued gleefully, once out of Hermione's reach, That is a   
secret!  
  
Rolling her eyes, Hermione etched runes into the air once more,   
lifting herself up off the ground with the invisible power of her   
magic, and the mana that filled the air about them, to whisk up after   
the pair.  
  
---  
  
After securing Ron in his room-- and using the Power to put him to   
sleep, because she _really_ did not want to deal with him telling her   
that he was perfectly fine-- Ginny trooped out to her own room.   
Swinging open the door she noted that she was the only girl in the   
dorm, and cheerfully moved over to her bed-- only to abruptly halt.   
There was a rabbit sitting on her bed. Reading. Reading what appeared   
to be some of the American comic books Harry had gifted everyone with   
for Christmas.  
  
Potter just said he liked the art better than most of the stuff that   
was produced in London.  
  
But that wasn't the only startling fact. Oh no, the rabbit had multi-  
hued fur, not unlike... "Nate?"  
  
The rabbit looked up, and did something rabbits are not supposed to   
be able to do. Answer back, "Hi Gunn!"  
  
She blinked once, twice, then rubbed her eyes, "Did you get caught by   
the Ministry...?"  
  
"Nope," the far-too-cheery rabbit returned. Damn, where was Nate the   
metalhead? The terminally depressed weirdo? This was getting creepy.  
  
"Er... how did you end up a rabbit then, Nate?"  
  
Several innocent blinks, and Virginia was about ready to forget her   
question under the insufferably cute attack. Finally, Nate sighed,   
figuring that he hadn't managed to win her over to the 'Nate Doesn't   
have to Explain Anything' side, "It's a curse. Get touched by a girl,   
become a rabbit."  
  
She hiked an eyebrow, "So how do you change back?"  
  
"I have to... let a girl... hug me," he shuddered as he whispered the   
last bit. His fear of females was coming back to bite him in the ass.   
  
"That's it?" she shrugged, and before Nate could say anything else,   
she swept him up into a tight squeeze. There was a puff of smoke--   
during which, she was surprised enough to drop the other teenager--   
and Nate changed back.  
  
Lacking clothing.  
  
Blushing brightly, he scrambled to his pack, hauling out his robes,   
the dusty grey jeans and the faded navy t-shirt that he wore beneath   
them. Ginny watched it all with an amused air.   
  
Once he was fully dressed, he breathed a sigh of relief, then eyed   
Ginny. She was okay. She wasn't really a girl, was she? She was a...   
something. Something that didn't do the reproduction thing, so he   
could pretend she wasn't female. That worked.  
  
Her lips quirked, "How long have you been a rabbit, Natey-boy?"  
  
"Uh... since shortly after I got out of the Ministry's central   
building. Uh... three, four hours now?"  
  
She collapsed to the floor laughing her ass off.  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Short, I know. Sorry. I'm a little brain fried right now; I spent   
most of this past weekend studying for my Math 30 Pure Diploma Exam.   
I wrote the exam yesterday, so I've been trying to get back into the   
normal swing of things. It might take a bit. 


	46. Development

I apologise for the lack fo BS due to my lack of ideas and the evil   
that is writer's block. Thank you all for your help and ideas!  
  
Incomplete Chapter Forty-Six Review Responses:   
  
Sara Minks - Yeah, he would. He's been calling her Mudblood for six   
years now, it's somewhat of a habit. And he's using it like a nickname   
now, instead of an actual insult. After all, she's one of Harry's   
friends, and Harry is scary-strong.  
  
Fire-Mage - I likes this idea. expect to see bits and pieces of it in   
Blackened Sunrise.  
  
Eaiva le Fay - Oh, Tom will find out that Harry was the one to kill   
him. Heh. That's going to be some battle...   
  
Black Rose - Heh, maybe I will throw in Hermione beating up on Draco   
using the runes...   
  
Lady Russell Holmes - I wouldn't know if it was similiar to Garth Nix's   
books. Cecile, Kristen, Clio and Whatserface refuse to let me touch   
their copies. I wonder why...? *glances at the pile of stuff that has   
been "lent" to her over the past years* Hmmm, that might be it.  
  
starwest45 - I like going in directions no one understands, it's fun.   
That's why I'm not taking a whole idea just from one person, but   
mashing a whole bunch all together to create general mayhem.  
  
Rouge-Sorceress - Why do people like mazes so much? Nevermind, I think   
I can guess. *grins cheerfully* Maze I may design, and ghosts may   
appear, but there are others about as well, and all the ideas are just   
so wonderful! I can not seem to decide! Argh!  
  
  
Chapter Forty-Five Review Responses:   
  
Lady Russell Holmes - Yeah, I've read the Ranma manga (Leigh owns it).   
I was thinking more along the lines of Furuba/Fruits Basket when I came   
up with Nate the Rabbit, though. Does everything make you think of   
Cowboy Bebop? That's like... the forth time you've mentioned it.  
  
Vampyre - Wow... I think I'd be scared if I watched someone stayed   
perfectly still to read something online. I'm always shifting and   
moving and having to force my attention back on track (Leigh thinks I   
have ADHD, but my mom says Leigh has no idea what she's talking   
about...). And thanks to your enlightnement of the fact that you almost   
threw your computer out of the window for BS's sake, I realise that I   
have one hell of a fic, to quote you.  
  
guess - grapefruit spoon...? Wow, that would be painful. Hopefully not   
long, but we should all know by now that what I type and what I paln   
usually flies off the handle and gets really strange before I manage to   
drag it back on course.  
  
Rouge-Sorceress - Red because red is a fun color. Other than that, I   
don't have any idea why I chose red. ^___^  
  
Harry Potter is property of JK Rowling, who is, by far, not The Itch.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Forty-Six: Developments  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
They had been travelling in silence for quite sometime, and Draco   
Malfoy had to wonder just how far into the ground Hogwarts was for them   
to still be climbing. His hands felt as though they were on fire, and   
he was sure a number of the scales that decorated them had come off at   
some point or another in his trip. The flickers and sparks of   
ruby-tinged magic that were upon the sealed wall hurt after a while.  
  
Shaking his head free of those thoughts, he ripped his hand out of the   
wall, pulling himself and reached out to jam the talons into more rock.   
When his hand hit empty air, and his forearm cracked harshly against a   
corner, he gave off a bit of a yelp. They'd found the top of the   
passage!  
  
"Thank you dearest God," he muttered, hauling himself up and over the   
egde. He gave Hermione and Weapon annoyed glares as the two flyers   
landed lightly further into the platform. _They_ hadn't had to tire   
themselves out and rip the scales off their hands and be in _way_ to   
much pain. His hands _hurt_ dammit!  
  
Idly, he wondered if Nate's drumset was still in that classroom. He was   
really going to need to bang on it when they returned. Then he wondered   
if it was really Nate's, since the boy was absolutely absimal at it.  
  
Of course, such idle thoughts were washed away from his mind as he gave   
a low whistle. That was some doorway.   
  
"High Elvish..." murmured Hermione, running her fingers over the   
intracetly carved wood, "Anicent High Elvish at that. This dialect   
hasn't been used in nearly twlve centuries."  
  
"Can you read it?" enquired Weapon's monotone question.  
  
She shook her head, "Only bits and pieces. I picked it up while we were   
translating the Old Norse that That Damned Bastard wrote his book in."  
  
"So we're going to spend another five months translating?" whined   
Draco, "I do _not_ want to come back up here, Mudblood!"  
  
The Enchantress gave him a rather annoyed stare, "I _do_ know a spell   
that can translate Elvish to Norse, twit. It was in the back Rune Book.   
The Old Norse Runes were, apparently, derived from Elvish in the first   
place, although Old Norse is a lot less... elequent."  
  
"I didn't need the lecture," griped Malfoy, "So do your ruddy spell and   
get us into that room, alright?"  
  
She turned his nose up at him, obviously stating that she didn't have   
to do what he said, but Weapon's four-fingered hand handed on her   
shoulder, "Our goal is beyond those doors."  
  
"Oh... right," she flushed a bit, embarrassed that the tiny tiff   
between herself and the Living Weapon had caused her to forget that   
fact.   
  
Once more she withdrew her athame and began to trace runes into the   
air, murmuring under her breath as she repeated the names of the   
symbols she needed to use for the spell. The joys of memorization.  
  
And the door began to glow.  
  
---  
  
Buildings were burning, debris was flying, and generally, all hell had   
come down upon their heads.   
  
"Buuuuuuuurn Ouuuuuuut!" screamed Lavender, throwing her hand in the   
direction of her latest attacker, concentrating hard enough to give   
herself a pounding headache as she upped the power of the attack. The   
fires that surrounded the enemy burned brighter and hotter, flaring   
every couple seconds for nearly a whole minute before dying down and   
revealing the charred corpse of the demon left behind.   
  
Panting, she scrambled backwards, allowing Blaise and Dean to jump   
forwards to take hers and Pavarti's places as the two In-Training   
Witches recovered their breath and strength. Sirius and Katar had been   
training the group of four for several months on end now, never letting   
up. The two Weapons wanted the Witches and Wizards under their commands   
to be much stronger than the average Wizard or Witch.   
  
After the second week, Katar had taken their wands.  
  
After the second month, Sirius had commanded them to break their wands.   
The breaking would release the power of the cores into the air, making   
the wand useless, but they had already been learning how to cast magic   
without their wands, using a system much like that the Weapons used to   
control the Power. The Weapons just refrained form explaining to the   
young wizards and witches that if they looked beyond the finite pool of   
magic that was their own, they would find the infinite Power.   
  
When a wand was broken, and it's controlling magic was released, there   
was a period of thirty to forty seconds where the power could be   
absorbed into a human body, and thus amplify both power reservoirs as   
well as control over their already existing powers. The four students   
had done so, and had spent the following month and a half learning how   
to control their newly increased level of magic.   
  
The past two weeks had been a danger-session, an unending battle,   
wherein they had to use potions and spells made on the battle field to   
keep themselves from drifting off into slumber. When they were given a   
sufficient break in the attacks, they would sleep, but they learned to   
be alert even while sleeping after the first time they had been   
attacked while out cold.   
  
Dean had three rather nasty looking scars down his right cheek from   
where the felinoid monster had attacked him. They ran down the side of   
his neck as well, and it had only been a quick healing spell by Blaise   
that had kept him from bleeding to death from a severed artery.  
  
They weren't Wizards and Witches, but they weren't Warlocks and   
Enchantresses. They didn't use wands, and they didn't understand the   
mechanics of the spells and mana they used. They were warriors, bred   
for battle, ready to fight, to conquer, to die in the line of duty.   
They had been born in a time when Voldemort's power was at it's   
highest, a time when the mana of the populace was tainted by his   
darkness, and it had flooded into the souls of all children born during   
his reign of terror.  
  
They had been born to fight, whether for or against the Dark Lord. Only   
those born over a year after his destruction were free of the mana's   
War-Magic taint. This was why the Weapons trained the Seventh, Sixth,   
and Fifth years so harshly, and why the Fourth and Third years were   
being trained in medical magics, and the Second and Firsts in muggle   
technology. The Firsts and Seconds were already becoming the world's   
finest Crackers, combining magic and technology to do so. They found   
this entire idea of the Balance fascinating.   
  
It wasn't war, or a holy crusade, or even the destruction of evil. It   
was a game, and it was meant to be enjoyed. Hermione and Ron, their   
teachers, encouraged this idea, encouraged their faith in Harry Potter,   
who would lead them into a wonderful world where nothing could go   
wrong. Harry Potter was a hero, after all. All the purebloods had been   
hearing about him for as long as they could remember.  
  
There was nothing wrong with following him, and everyone who had died   
during the Welcome Back Feast had died because they supported Darkness   
and Evil. They wanted to go against the hero, which was bad.  
  
Older years understood better than this wasn't the way things were to   
be. They had survived because they had been terrified of their new   
leader. Now they were either loyal to the harsh taskmaster that was   
going to help them control their own destinies, or to the kinder   
woman-weapon that worked for him, that held their own well-being high   
in her heart.  
  
"Daaaaaark Raaaaaain!" bellowed Blaise, impassively watching the   
draconic beasts writhe and scream as the darkness impeded on their   
souls and tore them asunder from within. Even beasts of the darkness   
could not compare to the shadows unleashed by the Slytherin-soldier.   
The field cleared, although the quartet remained on guard, watching   
carefully.  
  
At least until the battlefield they had lived in for two weeks faded   
away, the bodies vanished, and they were returned to the stone-walled   
room they had been training within for ages. Dean cracked his back,   
glad for the reprieve, and turned to face their instructors. The two   
men stood side by side, Katar's face impassive as usual, but Dart's   
face was split by a lopsided grin, "Good job."  
  
They nodded their thanks, still stretching out sore-spots and yawning   
as their lack of rest caught up on them.   
  
"I think you could use some down time. The door's that way," he   
motioned cheerfully at the door, "I expect you back here tomorrow,   
Outside Time, ladies and gentlemen."  
  
"Yeah yeah," Blaise grumbled, "We'll be back, no doubt about that."   
stretching, he jogged to the door, swinging it open and feeling the   
familiar tingle as he stepped back out and into real time. Pavarti,   
Lavender and Dean followed shortly, all yawning, all ready to fall into   
sleep. As they moved, silently and efficiently, as they had been   
taught, Lavender turned curious eyes to her teammates.  
  
"What are we, now?"  
  
"We're something that hasn't existed in centuries," their unofficial   
leader returned quietly as they glided towards the quarters they had   
staked out in the Gryffindor Dorms. The Slytherin continued softly, "We   
are elements in human form."  
  
The girls' eyes widened in surprise, and Dean whistle low, "You mean to   
say... that we're Druids, now?"  
  
"Or at least, the closest a human can come to being a Druid, yes,"   
Blaise nodded, pushing open their dorm-room doors, "Lets get some   
sleep, alright?"  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Yay ^__^ And yes, I do have ideas for what tomorrow's chapter will be   
like. Be happy! 


	47. Emotions

ROGUE-Sorceress - Sorry. Just a typo ^___^;;  
  
Zephyr - Bleh, Essaies...  
  
Greer - Personally, I don't think Harry's goth, since I've met a few   
real goths-- one of which is Leigh's boss, Pera. *shrugs* But   
different cultures have different ideas of what a true goth is. Hell,   
_I've_ been called goth, mostly by the people who equate  
black pants + black shirt = goth  
  
I'm still lacking players for Lupine Night. So far, the taken cast   
are Pansy/Fujin, Ron/Nida, Harry/Squall, Draco/Seifer, and   
Ginny/Rinoa. We still need Hermione/Selphie, Tom/Adel, Dean/Irvine,   
Seamus/Zell, and Blaise/Quistis for the mains characters and a number   
of supporting characters. Please, join! We all want to play, since   
it's going to be such fun! *big sparklie puppy-dog eyes*   
http://icetemple.tripod.com  
  
I still retain the fact that I do NOT own Potter or anything related to him.   
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter forty-seven: Emotions  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
There was a sound reminiscent of a lightning bolt hitting asphalt all   
of three inches in front of one's nose, accompanied by the thundering   
crash of thunder. The runes on the door flared with eldritch power   
for a split second, blinding even the Weapons, before they slammed   
open, crashing heavily against the wall they were built into.   
  
Harry blinked the spots out of his eyes, "Whoa..."  
  
"What?" wondered Malfoy, who was still trying to see   
correctly, "What's in there?"  
  
"I don't know," the other teenager grinned lopsidedly, "It's just   
that I've got green and purple spots dancing the macarena right in   
front of my eyes."  
  
"Harry..." Granger groaned, rubbing at her eyes.  
  
"What's the macarena?" the pureblooded blonde wondered, rather   
confused. Harry snickered, and Granger sighed.  
  
"A muggle dance. We pretend like it never happened."  
  
---  
  
Blaise couldn't sleep. He'd fallen into a soft slumber that he'd   
awoken from a bare half hour later, and trudged out of the Gryffindor   
dorm room in search of something to do. The four months he'd spent in   
the Center had conditioned him to get the most rest possible in the   
shortest amount of time. He would take another nap later, but right   
now he was to keyed up to sleep.  
  
So the Druid wandered.   
  
His fingers brushed the cool stone of the walls, hearing the echos of   
the dead rippling through the halls-- and not the ghosts that   
regularly wandered the castle, but those who had died on the lands   
where the castle had been built for eons. Those who had a connection,   
but hardly one strong enough to hold them physically to this plain of   
existence. It was his gift, and it was his curse. Something that had   
been a part of him for as long as he could remember.  
  
With a shake of his head, Blaise dismissed the voices from the   
forefront of his mind, surprised to find himself standing before what   
should have been one of the empty classrooms in the dungeons. There   
were complicated charms on the doors to lock them, but seeing as they   
were open, the charms were currently inactive. Within was Nate,   
fingers moving slowly over that strange muggle device he always   
totted around.  
  
The Druid watched, curious, as Nate halted his playing for a moment   
and began to mutter words under his breath, bouncing his head to some   
beat Blaise couldn't hear, before the bass guitar came in once more.  
  
"Cut my life into pieces  
this is my last resort  
suffocation, no breathing,  
don't give a fuck if I cut my arm   
bleeding  
  
This is my last resort.  
  
"Cut my life into pieces  
I've reached my last resort  
suffocation, no breathing,  
don't give a fuck if I cut my arm   
bleeding  
  
Do you even care if I die bleeding?  
Would it be wrong, or would it be right,  
if I took my life tonight,  
chances are that I might--"  
  
"You don't strike me as the suicidal kind, Nathaniel," the druid   
interrupted.  
  
"I'm not," Nate lifted his head, giving a soft, bitter chuckle, "You   
know, that's the song Schlatter and I played the night he killed   
himself."  
  
Blaise remained silent, as Nate's bitter gaze turned over to the drum   
set. He continued after a moment, "Sometimes... I think... that maybe   
I should have realized it, ya know. Schlatter wasn't normally a fan   
of Paparoach, and especially not of suicide songs."   
  
The Ravenclaw sucked in a deep breath, "I should have--"  
  
"Quit beating yourself up over it," snapped the Slytherin, "He's   
dead. We all know that. He killed himself. We know that too. It's not   
your bloody fault."  
  
"I was his best friend!" Nate bellowed, leaping to he is feet, deep   
brown eyes flashing angrily as he stalked towards the Druid. Said   
Druid watched this boy with some shock; he'd never seen Nathaniel   
Calaveras this riled up. Never, "I should have seen it!" he spat,   
self-incriminating, "But I didn't, and he killed himself," he seemed   
to deflate after a second, sinking in on himself.   
  
"He killed himself... am I that much of a bad friend? Did he hate me   
so much...?"  
  
"I think... I think the world was just getting to him, Nathaniel. His   
parents pressuring him to become a Deatheater, his crush on your   
sister, the weight of his school work..." Blaise shook his head, "God   
knows I would likely have done the same."  
  
"Two weeks," Nate husked, "Two weeks, and he would have been free of   
it all. He could have been here, him and me, training with the rest   
of you, instead of wallowing in self-pity..."  
  
Blaise took a chance-- he threw an arm around Nate's shoulders. He   
was a bit surprised when the older boy crumpled against him, sobbing--  
unused to such a situation, Slytherin as he was-- but he enveloped   
the seventeen year old in a strong hug. Nate needed this. Nate needed   
a lot of things.  
  
Nate needed time. But the only way for him to get the time he needed   
to recover, was to enter the training center.   
  
And how the hell could they manage that when Katar, Gunn and Dart   
were adamant that only people who were training were allowed in??  
  
---  
  
The two Weapons and the Enchantress slowly slipped into the room   
behind the doors, and all of them-- even Harry-- jumped when they   
slammed shut behind them. Potter scratched the back of his   
head, "Were the supposed to do that?"  
  
"No," Granger eyed the large doors with no small amount of   
mistrust, "No, they should have remained open..."  
  
"And they would have," a woman's voice cut in, "if I hadn't charmed   
them to close automatically, twenty years ago."  
  
Slowly, they turned, ready to grab their weapons and athame if a   
situation arose that called for such methods of battle. They could   
see nothing that would have spoken as such... until a ruby light   
flared from a stone inset into the floor, six feet into the chamber.  
  
The light expanded, and revealed a ghastly red-tinted image of Lily   
Evans, standing in the direct center of the chamber. The image   
smiled, "Would you three introduce yourselves? From the looks on your   
faces you already know who I am."  
  
Now, how were they going to explain to this spirit-image that one of   
the boys was her own son?  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Yeah, short, I know. Bleh. I wanted to write more, but then I told   
myself, "if it really is a snow day today, I can write more at seven   
in the morning" (it's two seventeen, according to my computer clock,   
right now). It's been snowing hella lots lately, so... here's to   
hoping and praying that I get as snow day, and some time to work on   
Lupine Night. (http://icetemple.tripod.com, if you've forgotten) 


	48. Introductions

Maxennce - I'm only lucky when I'm not freezin' my tail off waiting   
for a bus.   
  
KawaiiKowaiKoneko - A rather... interesting name. *laughs* Not done   
yet. I suppose I'm edging closer to the finish line, but I haven't hit   
it yet. Therefore, I continue. ^___^V  
  
Copper Fire - Glad you like it so much XD  
  
Greer - I know I'm evil. And I'm well aware of the feelings behind a   
friend commiting suicide. A friend of mine killed himself back when I   
was in grade nine-- that was about four years ago, now, I believe. And   
I've had to stop three suicide attempts by another friend. It's rather   
nerve wracking.   
  
Water Fire Girl - Blaise & Nate will have much bonding time in the   
future. *nods* Yes, especially with the hell I'm going to put him   
through in later chapters...  
  
Lady Russell Holmes - *grins* Sorry 'bout that. I'll try not to take   
as long to update ever again. It pains me, too, when I have writter's   
block. It's like... "why won't they come out and play? I want to mess   
around with them again!" *nods rapidly* I am, indeed, a Slytherin. Or,   
at least, That's what the Hat said back at the offical site.  
  
Kennan - When have I not complicated things? *laughs gleefully* For   
now, Nate will merely have to watch the Druids training, instead of   
joining in. Maybe he will, maybe he won't.  
  
Shila - Well, here's more! I'm slowly starting to get the word count   
up again, so the chapters should be getting longer and longer once   
again. Christ I hope so...  
  
Black Rose - How to Kill Writer's block -- Take a massive sledgehammer   
and slam it into the walls. No, seriously, sit back and don't think   
about the story for awhile. Then, go back and reread parts of it. If   
that doesn't help, make a plea for ideas, sift through the ones you   
get, mix-and-match them, then let the characters have fun. They should   
write the story for you, even if it does seem completely random for a   
bit. That's what I did ^___^  
  
*sighs* It's been forty-eight chapters. You've gotta know by now that   
The Itch doesn't own Harry Potter.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Forty-Eight: Introductions  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
"Katar is going to kill us for this," Dean hissed, glowering at   
Blaise, who was slipping through the shadows on the way to the   
training room like a pro. The Druid leader flashed the other teen a   
smug grin, and the miniaturized multicolored bunny rabbit tucked   
under his collar snickered. It was a rather strange feeling, to be   
hit with a shrinking spell.   
  
It had also been rather nerve wracking for the rabbit to get into   
that form-- having had to get Lavender at least half awake and to hug   
him had never sent him catatonic. But with Blaise hovering over his   
shoulder like he had been, Nathaniel couldn't exactly say 'no'. Then,   
of course, Blaise cast the shrinking spell. Everything would have   
been fine... except that Dean had woken up at some point, and had   
been watching them.   
  
They'd been forced to take him along so he couldn't spill the beans.   
  
Of course, he hadn't know they were headed to the training center to   
give Nate some time to get over everything that had happened-- at   
least, he hadn't known until he recognized the passage they were   
taking. It was the exact same route they'd gone to get to the dorms   
in the first place. Dean had started objecting around that point, but   
neither Nate nor Blaise gave it much thought.   
  
It was for a good cause, after all.  
  
---  
  
The Harry side of the joint being was stunned at the sight of his   
mother, as she had been back in her Hogwarts days. She definitely   
wasn't what he'd been expecting. The echo-- basically a three   
dimensional wizarding portrait that was restricted only by how far   
the focus stone's light could reach-- was a seventeen year old of   
average height. Her red hair was made that much more red by the focus   
stone's unearthly hue, although there was some that framed her face   
that looked more pink than red. Harry made a note to look up any   
pictures from his mother's school days to find out why.  
  
She was, of course, only in red because the focus stone was red. This   
was why echoes were so rarely used-- the color of the stone used as   
their focus was the color the echo turned. An echo would appear to be   
a ghost, excluding the fact that echoes were rather solid, and   
definitely incapable of moving through objects. Aside from that, she   
was _not_ wearing her traditional Ravenclaw robes; the echo was   
dressed in a dress with a wide skirt, and a corset to do it up, and   
shoulder-length fingerless gloves that shimmered. Dark make-up   
surrounded her eyes, but her lips were left bare. There was   
definitely a creepy feeling about this echo.  
  
The part of the joint being that was Weapon studied her with a   
warrior's eye, noting that the straps that wrapped around the gloves   
to keep them from sliding down her arms to bunch at her hands had   
empty sheaths against her underarms. They appeared to be made for   
only wands. Why she had one on each arm confused the Living Weapon,   
but he passed it off as a way to be prepared. Then there was the fact   
that her skirt had pockets, ones large enough to fit bolas in,   
although he doubted the woman would carry such an item in her pockets-  
- that was more of an item to be attached to a belt, so that the   
chain that connected the metal balls would not tangle.   
  
The combined musings of Weapon and Harry were cut short when the   
muggle-born stepped forwards, and sketched a small bow, "I am   
Enchantress Hermione Granger."  
  
Lily Evans nodded, and Draco smirked, crossing his arms. Malfoys   
didn't bow to anyone, after all, "Bladewhip, although most know me as   
Draco Malfoy." Here the echo raised an eyebrow, rather curious. A   
Malfoy? Must be Lucius' son...  
  
"And you?" she turned her gaze on to the inhuman form of the Living   
Weapon. He smirked, silver eyes blazing into green, and body shifting   
into the smaller, more compact form of the more insane of the two   
halves.  
  
"Harry James Potter, and the guy you were just talking to was Weapon.   
It's nice to see you again, mother."  
  
---  
  
Blaise pushed open the door to the training center, Nate well hidden   
by clinging to Blaise's arm inside his sleeve. You would not think   
that a rabbit could cling like that, but this was Nate. He just   
didn't want to get caught, since he wasn't actually supposed to be in   
here. He was the non-training guy. The messenger boy. The Weapons'   
liaison. He-Who-Broke-Into-The-Ministry.  
  
He wondered if he could use that like a title. It sounded cooler than   
Harry's "Boy-Who-Lived" thing. But then he'd probably get arrested by   
the Ministry...  
  
...of which probably wouldn't be around much longer. He had to   
remember that. He was Weapon, and Bladewhip's Liaison. He was Gunn's   
personal amusement toy-- not that he minded. Gunn wasn't scary--   
Dart's pranking buddy, and Katar's... well, he wasn't sure if he   
meant anything to Katar, but he probably just hadn't know the Missing   
Weapon for long enough. He'd worm his way into that Weapon's life,   
too.   
  
That's what he did, after all. Force himself into other peoples'   
lives. Whether they-- or he, for that matter-- wanted to. He guessed   
it was a personality flaw.  
  
He felt Blaise tug on him, and he reluctantly let go. The Druid's arm   
had been remarkably comfy. Said druid muttered the standard cease   
enchantment charm, and Nate grew back to regular bunny-size. He   
looked up at... well, what was Blaise to him? What was he to Blaise?   
Were they friends? He didn't know.   
  
He offered a weak, rabbity smile, "I'm going to go find somewhere to   
sulk."  
  
"I can't believe he's a talking rabbit," Dean muttered, staring after   
the punk-style rabbit, "and that he's blue and red and purple."  
  
"And white," Blaise interjected, "Don't go to far, Nathaniel. Dean   
and I will be over here practicing."  
  
The rabbit nodded, hopping away, and the Slytherin Druid turned to   
the Gryffindor Druid. On some unheard command, they threw themselves   
at each other, a flurry of kicks, punches, shiatsu strikes, and   
mostly harmless distractor spells. Nate did not get far into his   
sulking, as he found himself watching in awe at the sight of the two   
druids "practicing". It was more like a fight for dominance or some   
such thing, the animal thought distantly.   
  
It was like watching Draco and Harry's fight on Halloween all over   
again.  
  
---  
  
"Mother...?" wondered the echo, before it laughed lightly, "I suppose   
that would be why you know me."  
  
"Not really," Harry shrugged, eyes hooded, "My parents have been dead   
since I was a year old."  
  
Lily gave the teenager a startled look, "I'm _dead_? That shouldn't   
have been possible!" she half-screeched, "I had all those protections-  
-"  
  
"Protections?" wondered Draco, muttering to Hermione and Harry as the   
echo of Lily went on and on about how she shouldn't have been killed   
while so young. Harry shrugged.  
  
"Don't ask me. All I know is Avada Kedavra ki--"  
  
"Avada Kedavra?" Lily calmed considerably, "Hmm, that makes sense. I   
don't think we ever found a counter for that curse..." she shook her   
head free of the cobwebs of the past, "Now, why praytell are you   
three here. I imagine it must not have been from just a quick 'walk'."  
  
"Unless quick is spending several hours trudging through the dark,   
and a couple more flying through it," Potter joked, smirking, "But   
yeah, we need to know where some book pages are. Mum... that is to   
say, you... ripped them out of the big bad Book of a Thousand Deaths."  
  
"Book of a Thousand Deaths?" the redhead gave her son a strange look.   
She didn't recall anything titled that...  
  
"He means the Le Fey Encyclopedia of Wizards and Witches," Hermione   
informed her with a smile. The echo's face suddenly closed, and she   
stared at them suspiciously through a near impenetrable mask.  
  
"Why would you need those pages? There are enough deaths written in   
that book already."  
  
"We need to know if there were any First Generation Living Weapons in   
those pages," Draco half growled, "considering a certain pain in the   
ass Weapon is going to kill off the bloody planet."  
  
She raised a slender eyebrow, "Living Weapon? There's a term that I   
haven't heard since fifth year. Living Weapons are immortal, you   
know."  
  
Harry snorted, "Hardly. They're just long-lived. I should know."  
  
"And why's that... son?"  
  
His eyes glinted shifting from green to silver in a split second, his   
body expanding and wings spreading out from his back, "I am one."  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Ain't I a bitch? 


	49. Random

Almost to fifty chapters. Wow, never thought I'd get this far...  
  
Phoenix Flight - Sulk no more, here be the next chapter!  
  
mortal enemy of inanimate objects - Thankyou for the wonderful titles   
^__^ If I did call Fawkes that, I don't recall it. I'll go check on   
that later...  
  
Bryt - I love being mean... and those eyes of yours are deadly :P  
  
Lirael - Disassociative Identity Disorder? Aiyah, how many identities   
does yoru Volde have? ... that's actually a bit of a scary thought...  
  
Kennen - S'ok, I said it first, after all.   
  
CassandrAIarwen - Wow, this can be considered a horror story? Sweet.  
  
Sara Minks - Everyone is as you wouldn't have expected them. That's   
the fun with destroying continum.  
  
I'd respond to more reviews... but I have to go cook supper! Crap,   
don't want to be late tonight!  
  
*grumbles* Check the last forty eight or so chapters. They've all got   
the disclaimer.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Forty-Nine : Random  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
Bladewhip shifted uncomfortably as he watched Lily and Harry stare at   
each other in silence. What was up with those two? The blonde haired   
Slytherin crossed his arms, turning his attention away from the   
mother-son pair, and towards the runes that decorated the walls and   
floor of the room. He frowned, studying the familiar runes with a   
practice eye, "Old Norse...?"  
  
The Enchantress shifted from eavesdropping on Harry and Weapon's   
mental conversation, to watching the Malfoy Heir trace his fingers   
over the all to familiar symbols of which they had all become used to   
reading over the previous five months. Yes, those were, indeed, Old   
Norse Runes. She swept across the floor toward several of the runes   
in the left wall, and Draco's curious gaze followed her, only moments   
before his feet accompanied said gaze.   
  
"Anything interesting?" yeah, he was capable of reading _some_ runes,   
but he hadn't bothered to learn the whole language. What did he care,   
when all was said and done? Learning a dead language wouldn't help   
him.   
  
The young woman retrieved her athame, sketching a light rune into the   
air to allow her to see the runes that much better, "Now what could   
this be...?" this time the athame was used like a lever, digging into   
the carving of the rune, digging under a small, black stone, and   
popping it out with a little bit of elbow grease.  
  
There was the sound of stones grinding upon stones, and Lily's echo   
broke the stalemate with her originator's son, "How did you..."  
  
Hermione held the small black stone up between two fingers, "Just a   
little deduction," she smiled haphazardly, and Harry laughed.  
  
"That's our Enchantress, alright. Always seems to figure everything   
out first," he shook his head, before grinning widely at   
his 'mother', "So, you going to tell us where those pages are?"  
  
"Hardly," sniffed the echo, "I'm not about to let _anyone_-- even my   
flesh and blood-- anywhere _near_ those pages!"  
  
"And why not?" Malfoy growled, stalking closer to the echo, and the   
ruby focus stone directly beneath her image, "Why won't you let us   
get those pages and find out how to get rid of a Weapon!?"  
  
Lily Evans crossed her arms stubbornly, turning her head away from   
the three sixteen year olds. Hermione groaned. This would take   
awhile; especially if Lily was even half as stubborn as her long-time   
friend.  
  
Sometimes, life sucked.  
  
---  
  
He'd been a rabbit for three days.  
  
That was the longest he'd ever been in his non-human form. It was...   
creepy, to say the least. He couldn't digest human foods, but that   
wasn't all that bad-- Dean was surprisingly skilled at both cooking   
the muggle way and cooking with magic; Nate had a good supply of   
rabbit-friendly foods-- and he had to deal with practically being   
Blaise's pet and hauled around with him whenever they had to go long   
distances in the two teenagers' training.  
  
But the worst part had to be the fact that when he was put down so   
that Dean and Blaise could 'spar', he ended up being attacked by   
beasts and creatures spelled into existence as 'incentive' for   
training wizards, witches, and Druids to do their best. Nate had   
become rather skilled at beating off larger animals in his bunny-form.  
  
He'd jokingly entitled it "Rabbit-Fu."  
  
Dean had told him he watched to much muggle entertainment.  
  
But right now, he was being carried in Blaise's arms, wondering what   
was going to happen now. The boys had exhausted themselves by   
maintaining their own personal prowess, and keeping their conjured   
enemies solid and "real" for any long period of time. Right now,   
instead of looking like they were hiking through the Forbidden   
Forest, the two druids and the rabbit were trudging across the stone   
floor of the Training Center to the cots set up on the other side of   
it.   
  
Dean passed out in one of the cots before he'd done so much as tilt   
forwards and fall. Blaise gave a tired laugh, before trudging over to   
his own bed. He'd likely only get an hour's sleep before he was up   
and moving again, but he'd rather sleep that time in a bed, then on   
the cold stone of the Training Center's floor. He stripped off the   
school robe he-- and the rest of the druids-- habitually donned every   
time they woke up, leaving himself only in a pair of soft grey pants   
belted around the waist, and a navy open fronted vest.   
  
The Slytherin sprawled out over his own cot, curling up on one side,   
and sleepily holding the rabbitified Nathaniel Calaveras to his chest   
like he was some sort of living teddy-bear. The rabbit attempted to   
wiggle his way out of the Druid Leader's grasp, so he could go   
somewhere to think, or to possibly stand by the entrance until   
someone else opened the door to enter and he could escape--   
unfortunately, Blaise only tightened his sleepy grip on his sort of   
friend.  
  
Calaveras sighed, and settled himself down comfortably. It didn't   
appear as though he would be getting free any time soon.  
  
---  
  
Gunn leaned over the shoulder of one of the muggleborn Ravenclaws,   
curiously watching whatever it was that the Ravenclaw was doing. The   
redhead kept silent as the Ravenclaw's fingers flew across what she   
had called a 'key-board'; a part of one of those muggle 'Com-  
Pewters'. Seeing as Virginia was rather pureblooded, she had no idea   
what the bloody hell the other female was doing, but whatever it was,   
it seemed impressive.  
  
"So what's this?" she finally asked, after twenty-minutes of watching   
the Ravenclaw work. The brunette in front of her didn't even bat an   
eye.  
  
"Laptop computer. Had Nate enchant it for me two years ago," even as   
she talked, her fingers flew without hesitation, "As for what I'm   
doing... I'm accessing NASA and various spy satellites currently in   
orbit. It should help us be able to track Voldemort's movements."  
  
Curious, Virginia leaned closer to the screen, "How could it do that?"  
  
The Ravenclaw smirked, "Like this." And she muttered some words under   
her breath, the image on the screen suddenly appearing on the wall in   
front of them. What the image displayed was surprising-- it was   
Hogwarts, and the surrounding terrain, only... from the air. The   
Ravenclaw bit her lip, "I didn't even have to recalibrate the   
position of the cameras for this one. It appears that the Muggle   
governments were keeping an eye out on us magic-users."  
  
Gunn frowned, "That's... rather disturbing. Can you get these 'cam-  
ras' positioned to keep an eye out on the Ministry?"  
  
"I'll get on it," the Ravenclaw nodded, "It might take awhile,   
though. I'm training the younger years on how to use computers."  
  
"You're excused from that," the Weapon intoned, "I want you to keep   
surveillance on the Ministry like this. They won't expect it. Spells   
they know-- muggle devices...? Hardly."  
  
"Right," the Ravenclaw nodded, returning to her happy hacking. As   
Gunn was leaving, she paused, turning back to face the brunette.  
  
"What are you wearing, anyway?"  
  
"This?" The student finally looked away from her screen, casting a   
look down at her clothing, before looking back up, "Oh, it's just   
something I made over the summer hols. Cosplay is a lot of fun."  
  
Shaking her head, the redheaded pureblood left the 'weird' muggleborn   
behind. That blue pleated miniskirt, and blue jacket like top with   
the white scarf was just a little too strange for the Weapon.   
  
---  
  
The blonde man watched his master nervously, the snake-like man   
pacing -- more like stomping-- in circles, muttering about annoying   
pricks that killed his best friend. Lucius Malfoy had been completely   
unaware that Lord Voldemort could possibly _have_ friends.  
  
He wondered if his lord and master had finally gone off the deep end.  
  
Then he gave the man a wide berth, afraid for his life. Riddle had   
started to randomly fire off rather painful and quite lethal spells.   
Whoever had put Voldemort into such a mood was going to die. If not   
by Riddle's own hand, then by Lucius'.  
  
He was afraid he might be accidentally killed in one of Riddle's now   
frequent fits if he didn't.  
  
---  
  
When Blaise stirred, once again, into full wakefulness, he was a bit   
confused about the weight on his stomach. With a groan, he pushed   
himself up onto his elbows, to spy Bunny Nate sprawled out over his   
belly, sleeping quietly.   
  
Well... mostly quietly, in any case. Zabini found it amusing that   
Nate was softly snoring. It was quite the sight, a rabbit snoring.   
Shaking his head, the Druid swept Nate into his arms, climbed out of   
the cot, then settled the still sleeping rabbit onto his pillow.   
Strong fingers scratched the top of the multicolored rabbit's head.  
  
"Goin' soft, Zabini?" Dean muttered, already seated on his own cot.   
Blaise gave his teammate an annoyed look, but, surprisingly, did not   
yank his hand away from Nate's skull, as the Gryffindor Druid had   
expected. Instead, he trailed his fingers down the rabbit's back,   
feeling the soft, silky fur brush against calloused fingers.  
  
Blaise shook his head with a soft laugh, "Hardly. Nate just needs   
someone who understands what he's going through."   
  
Zabini pointedly ignored Thomas' raised eyebrow and silent enquiry of   
when exactly Nathaniel had become 'Nate' in the Slytherin's mind.   
After a few minutes, he withdrew his hand and pulled his robes back   
on.  
  
"Well, let's get going again, hmm?"  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
More Nate/Blaise bonding. Go me. :P 


	50. Complications

I find myself astounded that I managed fifty chapters.  
  
Finn - *snickers* Mwehehe, their search has hit a bit of a...   
four-foot thick steel-enforced concrete wall.   
  
Lady Russell Holmes - Uh... yes? Honestly, I don't know yet. Which is   
why this chapter ends the way it does.   
  
Bryt - I have special plans for Nate, and not one of them involves   
slashing him with Blaise. He's to cute to slash ^__^ A little bit of   
budding friendship, though... that's okay. Lily doesn't want anyone to   
see the pages because... hey, wait, I'm not going to spoil it for you!  
  
guess - She's not Sailormoon. It's actually the winter uniform for   
Kaibara High School (Fruits Basket). I haven't decided if she was   
dressed as Tohru, Uotani, or Hanajima yet, just that she was wearing   
the uniform.  
  
Shila - Here you are, more!   
  
Phoenix Flight - No worries, no slashie in this fic. Maybe in another   
one, but not this one. Like I told Bryt, I've got special plans for   
Nate, mwahahahahahaha~  
  
Black Rose - I already told guess what anime the uniform is from. I   
don't know why I put it in... probably spent way to much time listen   
to Leigh rant about how annoying making that uniform is (she's a big   
time cosplayer)  
  
Kennan - Hermione found... black stones. They do have a point, that   
will become clear only at some undeterminable point in the future.   
^__^  
  
Flummox - Rabbit-Fu! I'll probably go into it more next chapter. That   
is a funny image, though; Bunny-Nate, Thumping monsters to death!   
Come, see it in theaters!  
  
Lirael - Do I want to know how Sauron got into Riddle's head?   
  
Harry Potter is property of JK Rowling  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Fifty : Complications  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
Cornelius Fudge paced the floor of his office, nervously. He'd locked   
the doors and windows with the strongest locking spells he knew, and   
even shoved his desk in front of the door, all to prevent entry.   
  
He was utterly terrified.   
  
Not only had his bodyguard up and vanished-- leaving only a chilling   
prediction of Fudge's destruction and death-- but he'd received a   
letter from an outside source; and he had no idea who it was. Nor did   
he know how this other had gotten into his office. Therefore, he   
boarded up his office, hiding within the room, and praying for his   
life. He didn't want to die.  
  
He summoned a cup of coffee-- black-- sipping at it, his bloodshot   
eyes darting to and fro in the cramped office.   
  
Cornelius was driving himself insane with paranoia.  
  
---  
  
Nate pretty much slept completely through the following day, only   
awakening when Zabini trudged back to the cot after a tiring session   
of training with Thomas-- said Gryffindor having bailed out to go   
sleep in the dorm rooms, as well as explain to Lavender and Pavarti   
where the two boys had been. Sleepily, the multi-hued rabbit cracked   
open an umber eye, staring up into the face of his Slytherin   
companion, "Morn'red'ye?" he muttered, blinking blurrily.  
  
"Night, actually," the druid chuckled, "you might as well just go   
back to see, Nate."  
  
"Sokay..." he mumbled, unconsciously snuggling in closer to his   
living pillow as the rabbit fell back into a calm slumber. Zabini, on   
the other hand, lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling of the   
training center, eyes unfocused. His fingers brushed lightly through   
blue, purple, red and white fur without conscious effort, the other   
hand tucked up behind his head.   
  
He wondered at the relationship between Calaveras and Schlatter.   
Before Schlatter's suicide, neither would have admitted to being   
friends, even if their insults and tormenting were all in good fun.   
But after... Nate proclaimed the infuriating Slytherin as his best   
friend. Nate was utterly broken over his friend's death; more so than   
Blaise had thought someone could be from such a thing.   
  
Did he consider Nathaniel his friend? Did Nate consider Blaise a   
friend? Were they enemies or acquaintances?   
  
And what about Draco? The Living Weapon and the musician had   
sequestered themselves up in that classroom from time to time, using   
muggle music to pour out their emotions. Was Nate friends with Draco,   
and vice versa? Or were they just using each other as a way to get   
back on to their own feet? It was rather confusing.  
  
It was also confusing the way Nate's emotions could jump from one   
extremity to the other in seconds. One moment he was happy-go-lucky,   
the superstar guitarist, the smirking, pranking liaison between   
Weapon and Ministry, and the next he was the dreary, depressed, guilt-  
ridden teenager who didn't know the meaning of his own existence.   
  
Blaise rolled over onto his side, careful to keep Nate tight against   
his belly, but without disturbing the rabbit's sleep.   
  
He have to think about this more.  
  
Tomorrow, though.   
  
He was really tired right now.  
  
---  
  
Lily and Harry were still holding their stupid staring contest.   
Hermione and Draco were getting bored.   
  
They'd searched the room, finding more and more of those dark stones   
in the old runes, wondering what each of them did. Both teenagers had   
at least ten in hand, but they had no idea what the sparkling stones   
had been made for. It was rather confusing to say the least.   
  
"Here's another," the tired pale haired male grumbled, using his   
claws to yank it out of the wall. As he did so, he was surprised to   
hear Lily laugh.  
  
"It's about damned time!" she crowed, clapping her hands, "If you   
three can make it back here, the pages are all yours. If not," she   
shrugged, "I really don't care. Bye-bye." The echo waved, the Weapons   
and the Enchantress turning to ask her what the hell she was talking   
about when the stones in Draco and Hermione's hands flared with   
brilliant, ruby light.   
  
When it faded, the echo buffed her nails on her robe, "Well then.   
That settles that." and smiled.  
  
---  
  
When Draco managed to blink the light out of his sensitive draconic   
eyes, he found himself standing somewhere he didn't exactly picture   
himself ever standing in.   
  
A muggle high school.  
  
American, if he was right about the clothing style. Before any one of   
the students could so much as bat an eye at his dress, he'd yanked on   
his sash, untying it swiftly, and allowing his wizarding robes to   
fall open like one of those muggle 'dusters'. He knew the clothing   
beneath didn't exactly fit in, but it fit in better than the robe.  
  
He was dressed in a black t-shirt he'd jacked from Harry's trunk, and   
a pair of dragon-hide pants, with a pair of thick dragon scale boots.   
Hey, just because he was part dragon now didn't mean he couldn't wear   
the clothing he already owned that was made of the scales.   
  
Draco began to pad down the hallway, a being of ethereal grace, the   
students automatically, and unconsciously, parted to allow the   
predator in their midst to move without hindrance. As it should be,   
mused the pureblood.  
  
As he wondered the reason that he was here, he never noticed the   
stones still in his palm pulse briefly with light.   
  
---  
  
Hermione pulled herself out of the daze she'd found herself in,   
wondering exactly was what going on; which came to an abrupt halt,   
when she realized exactly where she was. That there was no way out,   
and no way in. Magic must have been used.  
  
Which meant this maze could quite possibly be magic, as well. This...   
was not good. She didn't bother to look at the stones in her hand,   
instead shoving them into the pocket of her robe, and etching a light   
rune into the air with her athame.   
  
The Enchantress knew something was wrong almost immediately. No light   
lit the air as the rune was made. There was no gentle glowing ball of   
light that would hover over her head and guide her way. She was   
powerless, and in the dark. Nervously, she returned the athame to   
it's sheath on her arm, and pulled her wand from her other pocket.   
  
"Lumos," she muttered, and nothing happened. She continued, louder   
and louder, until she was almost shrieking the spell. Still, nothing.   
Sighing, she returned the wand to her pocket, and lifted her hand to   
rub at her raw throat. So, she was in a null magic zone.  
  
That meant she was on her own.  
  
God dammit.  
  
---  
  
"What an unusual fellow..."  
  
"Aside from the skin, he almost looks like one of us."  
  
"Indeed, indeed. How much do you think he'd fetch?"  
  
"Ninety gold?"   
  
"He can't possibly be worth that much," the first voice snapped   
angrily. They probably would have continued to argue, had Potter not   
gotten annoyed with them interrupting his magically induced nap, but   
snaking his tail up and thumping the both in the stomach with it.   
  
An emerald eye cracked open, "Shut the bloody hell up and let me   
sleep," he growled angrily.  
  
"Not a very well trained pet, is he?" wheezed one of the men, and   
Harry's night-vision gave him an interesting view of the fellow. Dark   
black skin, almost hinting upon blue, with crimson eyes, and silver-  
white hair. His ears were pointed and narrow, and Potter recognized   
the features of one of the high elves. But which breed was it that   
had such dark skin...?  
  
"Not at all. He'll need to be retrained," the other man, who's skin,   
eyes and hair were the same color as the other's, reached out,   
grabbing hold of the chain still attached to the collar around   
Harry's neck. He'd never bothered to remove it.  
  
He did bother to remove the elf's hand, however, when he tried to   
force Potter onto his feet. Howling with pain, the dark one feel   
back, staring at his stump. Annoyed that his nap had been   
interrupted, and that he wouldn't be able to roll over and go back to   
sleep, Harry stood up, short compared to the elegance of the elves.  
  
"Why you little..." the other man's cursing trailed off as Harry's   
form swelled seven feet, and his back split to allow the two sets of   
wings through flicking blood from the feathered tips of his larger   
set. Cold, silver eyes stared down at the now shorter elf.  
  
Weapon's voice was chill in it's lack of emotion, "I would reconsider   
your next words, _elf_. There is no one that controls myself or my   
other. You would do well to remember that the Living Weapons are self-  
sufficient."  
  
"Li... li... Living Weapon?" wheezed the stunned man, stumbling   
backwards, "No... no, it's impossible! Scimitar is the only Living   
Weapon! No other exists!"  
  
Weapon's eyes glowed with the Power in the darkness of the Drow   
tunnels, a surprising smirk curving his lips in a chilly manner. To   
the frightened dark elf, he looked as one of their deities would look   
when angered.  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
I'm nice, aren't I?  
  
Black Rose, M'dear, Draco is all yours to play with-- I just need to   
grab him back at some time, so I can get them their pages. For now,   
I'll just goof around with Hermione, Harry, Blaise and Nate. 


	51. Indoctrination

Sorry 'bout not updating Sunday/Monday. I went to a party Saturday   
night, and didn't get home until Sunday night-- I slept maybe an hour   
in all that time, passed out on the couch. Then I woke up and went   
back to partying. Monday was my 'recovery' day. I still had to go to   
classes, though...  
  
Flummox - Scimitar is actually from Black Rose's "An Amercian   
Weapon." The only other Weapon I've mentioned, that hasn't been seen,   
is Naginata, and that's because Naginata is dead. Drows rock; I love   
them ever so much. Dark Elves... hehehehehehe.   
  
Kennen - Draco is in a muggle school so that I could kick him over   
into AAW, and let Black Rose terrorize him. Hermione is in a maze.   
I'll eventually get to the reason why, but probably not this second.  
  
Scamber Dragon - That would be so much fun, tracking down our dearest   
Angel of Balance just to get to torture Bladewhip ^__^  
  
Kerrigan - Confusion is my game XD  
  
Bryt - Yeah, they've got to find their way back to Lily's echo...   
that's going to take some time for Draco-dear, however. I mean, he's   
in _America_.  
  
Eriol's bear - No slashing of Nate and Zabini. Although since Nate is   
my all-purpose OC, he might end up in another fic. I'm not going to   
embarrass Malfoy-- that's all up to Black Rose. XD   
  
Ivette Jamaya - More it is!  
  
Hurdlingbaybe06 - O_o;; You read it all in one sitting? Not even   
bothering to go to sleep when you knew you had stuff to do in the   
morning? Whoa...  
  
guess - I've never actually had the chance to read Daughter of the   
Drow, although I've made some vague attempts here and there. What I   
know of the Drow has been stolen from Leigh's brain, since she   
obsesses over them, to a point where she inserted a Drow into a   
Rockman/Megaman Role Play Game.  
  
Tasidia - *claps* I've been waiting for you to catch up; I always got   
a smile from your reviews as you slowly worked your way through the   
whole thing.  
  
Phoenix Flight - See how fast Weapon turns the tables on them ^__^  
  
Rouge-Sorceress - Oh, more people will die. I'm just working up to   
it. Mwahahahahahaha~!  
  
Lirael - Psycho!Harry is the best kind of Harry. Ouuuu,   
reincarnation... did Legolas get reincarnated, too? *grins*  
  
An American Weapon:   
Lupine Night:   
  
Still not in possession of Harry Potter. He still belongs to Madam   
Rowling.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Fifty-One: Indoctrination  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
"Hiiiiiyah!" Nate proceeded to attempt to preform a side-kick in   
rabbit form, and failed rather spectacularly. Laying on his back,   
stunned, the multicolored rabbit reflected that he probably should   
stick to moves that would actually work with this body.   
  
At least until he learned how each and every muscle worked.  
  
Never let it be said that Nathaniel Calaveras had not watched far to   
many muggle Martial Arts Movies.  
  
Blaise shook his head as he shuffled over to the muggle refrigerator   
in the corner of the 'living space'. It was easier just to have the   
enchanted fridge sitting in one corner, keeping food stuffs fresh,   
then to run the House Elves ragged as they switched back and forth,   
back and forth, between the two different timed parts of the castle.   
There would have had been need for constant replenishment.   
Definitely, the fridge was easier.  
  
Munching on an apple, he dropped into seiza, watching his friend   
attempt to new moves in his rabbit-form. The boy had spent several   
weeks like that now, and while he occasionally griped about it,   
Blaise believed he secretly enjoyed the freedom of not being human.   
Still, the former Slytherin knew that it was only prolonging the   
inevitable. Nate would have to face up to his guilt over Cyliess'   
death, and overcome it, if he was to be effective in any way to the   
Weapons' new regime. Which meant that Lavender or Pavarti would have   
to change him back soon.  
  
His guess was a little off, having thought they had a bit more time   
to be A Boy and His Pet Rabbit, when the doors banged open and said   
female Druids sauntered into the room, Dean trailing along behind   
them. Blaise hadn't realized that three months had actually passed   
while he was training, and Nate avoiding the issue.  
  
Lavender whistled when she caught sight of Nate's multicolored   
fur, "Wow, Dean wasn't kidding when he said he was   
colored 'interestingly'."  
  
Calaveras gave her a flat stare, responding dryly, "I'll take that as   
a compliment."  
  
"And he talks!" Pavarti's eyes widened, "How is that possible? I   
didn't think rabbits had vocal cords like humans..."  
  
Blaise gave her a strange look, then shrugged. What did it matter if   
he could talk or not? It was a _curse_ that had changed him, after   
all.   
  
Before the rabbitified Nathaniel could react, Lavender shot forwards,   
scooping the bunny up into her arms, squeezing him tightly. She had   
barely begun proclaiming his cuteness to the world, when she suddenly   
found herself with an armful of seventh year Ravenclaw. The blonde   
teenager blushed brightly, while the younger female eyed his upper   
body before letting him go.   
  
He scrambled to the bedding area, hiding behind a cot, still   
blushing, but now curled into a ball muttering things to calm himself   
down. They generally ran along the lines of 'girl not scary, girl   
won't hurt me' over and over again, interspersed by Sum 41 lyrics.   
Yes, his fear of females had reared it's ugly head, once again.   
  
Sighing, Blaise climbed back to his feet, stretching out his back,   
and turning to his teammates, "Well then... ready to train?"  
  
Pavarti rolled her eyes as Dean and Lavender grinned widely, stealing   
a page from one of Harry's more bizarre books. They posed.  
  
---  
  
Weapon remained emotionless as he hefted the still bleeding form of   
the single-handed Drow by his collar, and wrapped his long, taloned   
fingers around the stump left behind. Wide, terrified red eyes nearly   
rolled back into the dark elf's head as he felt a tingle of pleasure   
arc through his body, beginning at his missing limb. He never noticed   
the Power being woven into his system, not that he would have   
understood what he was sensing if he had. The Power was unique, and   
only those that were experienced with it and it's facets, knew with   
what they were dealing.   
  
When the Drow was set back on the ground, clouded eyes cleared, and   
he lifted up his stump to stare at it in shock. There was a hand   
there-- not made of flesh and bone, but of Power-wrought metal. The   
elegant gold stood out against his dark skin and dark clothing.   
Raising his eyes to the man who had first removed his hand, then   
replaced it, he found himself staring into the pinpoint pupils of the   
most definitely insane Harry Potter.   
  
Then the pinpoints widened, giving him a look of returning sanity,   
although that was hardly the case. His eyes were simply adjusting to   
the amount of light in the caves, after having been bathed with the   
physical glow of the Power. After all, he wasn't just trying to prove   
to this lower member of the Drow Elves that he was one of the Living   
Weapons, he was trying to prove it to every other dark elf that could   
possibly be in the area. Therefore, the light show.   
  
The second Drow was also gaping, open mouthed, at the sight of his   
older brother, marveling over the golden metal that was his brother's   
hand. This... this was truly amazing. This man... he... he must have   
been one of the Weapons. While a hand as such could have been made by   
any blacksmith Drow, it would have taken much time to find the   
materials, create the hand, enchant it, and then fuse it into the   
body. Weapon had formed it in minutes.  
  
"My Lord Living Weapon..." breathed the younger elf.   
  
Harry's luminescent emerald eyes turned to face him, lips quirking   
dangerously, "My Name is Weapon." He didn't bother to gift him with   
his birth name; what was the point? He had trained himself to respond   
to being called Weapon, but there was always a moment of hesitation   
before he did so. To be called Harry... was to have power over him.   
And as his other had told the two lower Drow, no one controlled   
either of them. No one.  
  
The last one to do so was dead.  
  
"My Lord Weapon," the older bowed his head, something he had never   
done for another male before. He and his brother were of Noble house,   
and had been used to the male Drow bowing their heads to them; of   
course, since the two _were_ male, they had to bow their heads to any   
female that passed. Such was the way of the Drow, "What would you   
have your servants do, my lord?"  
  
Potter caught the stunned look on the younger brother's face, and   
didn't bother to hide his grin. The brother was clearly stunned at   
the fact that his elder had called them both servants of the Living   
Weapon. His older brother had always been a stubborn one, and had had   
to literally have his obedience to women beaten into him. Potter   
stared hard at them.  
  
"First, your names."  
  
The younger looked mutinous-- this may have been one of the Living   
Weapons, but he didn't have to _obey_ him-- so the older brother   
spoke for them both, "My brother is Elear, and I am Helkaer."  
  
"Helkaer," Harry mused, wrapping his mind around the strange names,   
before disguarding the thought, "I want you to take me to where ever   
it is that you and Elear live."  
  
"As you command, my Lord," he turned into the darkness, trusting in   
the Weapon's ability to see in the dark like the elves could. How   
else would he have been able to come into the tunnels in the first   
place?  
  
---  
  
Nate had managed to find some clothing, and was laying back in the   
cot that his rabbit form had shared with Blaise. In the distance, he   
could hear the four Druids being put through their paces by Sirius,   
and knew they wouldn't be back for some time. Sirius rather enjoyed   
being a taskmaster.   
  
So the cot would be his until Sirius gave his 'students' a break, and   
they finally left the time-distorted chamber. But that wouldn't be   
for a long while, so here Nate was, thinking. Not something he'd done   
for awhile now; ever since he'd come in, he'd been perfecting Rabbit-  
Fu or sleeping, to avoid having to think about Schlatter's death. He   
couldn't put it off any more.   
  
His voice was quiet as he whispered lyrics to himself, closing his   
eyes in thought, hands tucked up behind his head.   
  
"Heaven smiles above me... what they gift, there be love... but now   
I'm lost... gift that you give to me, no one knows..."  
  
Why did you do that, Cyliess?  
  
Why did you have to kill yourself?  
  
Why did you leave me behind?  
  
You... were my only friend...  
  
...but not anymore.   
  
That was the crutch. Nate had more friends now. He wasn't   
just 'another Ravenclaw' to the other students, and he wasn't   
the 'wanna-be muggle' to the Ravenclaws... he was Nathaniel   
Calaveras, friend of Draco Malfoy, friend of Blaise Zabini. Funny how   
all his friends had been in Slytherin.  
  
He still didn't understand why Cyliess had thought it better to take   
his own life, over living the way he wanted to. Instead of taking   
life by the horns and wrestling it until it did what he wanted. He'd   
been so sure that Schlatter had everything he could ever want-- well,   
except Marie; he'd never actually gotten over his crush-- so why   
would he do that? Oh, sure, Blaise had said that his family was Death   
Eaters, and Nate had met them and their attitudes enough times to   
believe it... but that couldn't be it.  
  
Could it? Were purebloods so indoctrinated that they couldn't think   
for themselves, and the only way out is suicide?  
  
That caused him pause for a moment, an old theory coming to surface   
once more. Why was it that there was only one magical newspaper? Why   
weren't there others, to offer conflicting opinions, and give both   
sides of the story? Where were the other forms of mass media? Why was   
their music only chanting?  
  
You were either labeled 'dark' or 'light'. There was never   
any 'grey'. Why was it like this? Was the Ministry preforming   
censorship? Only printing what they thought the people should know?   
The theory sent a chill down his back, as he realized something in   
the pit of his stomach. If that was true... if that was true, then it   
led some credence to the reasoning behind Cyliess Schlatter's   
suicide.   
  
The indoctrination would have kept him from being able to see   
anything outside of what he'd been taught. He wouldn't have known any   
other way out. He was of pure blood, he wouldn't have been able to   
question things by looking at it in the way only a muggle-- or   
muggleborn, still living with a muggle family-- could look at it.   
  
His mind flashed back to the discussions over the summer that he   
listened in on. To Marie and their father arguing the politics of the   
past. To their parents dinner-time discussions of history and the   
current problems of the world. Yes, people only learned from their   
mistakes...  
  
...but where did that leave them, when the government themselves   
refused to give the people enough freedom to realize they were making   
mistakes? Where did that leaves them with the government itself was   
to stupid and foolhardy to realize that what they'd been doing for   
centuries could only hurt people?  
  
The Ministry of Magic was the reason Schlatter was dead, Nate decided   
with a firm glare at the ceiling. If they'd shown that there were two   
sides to everything, or at least let information from out-of-country   
into the Daily Prophet, then Schlatter would have known he had other   
ways out other than suicide. He would have known that he could stand   
up for himself, fight for what he believed in.  
  
Nate had gotten the guilt of his friend's death off his chest; the   
past three or so months in the Training Center having be freeing and   
enabling him to become friends without having 'human' worries.  
  
He had also gotten over what remained of his hesitance to rid the   
magical community of Cornelius Fudge and his corrupt world order.   
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Swoosh; another chapter down! 


	52. Allies

About the end to the last chapter; I'd been studying indoctrination in   
Social 30 for a few days when I wrote it, and the thoughts I had jump   
out at Nate's were much along the lines of what I was thinking. Fudge   
is quite the interesting comparison to Mussolini towards the end of   
the fascist reign in Italy during World War II. There's another   
thought... did the Witches and Wizards of the nineteen forties   
participate in WWII, or did they think that was just "some muggle   
conflict" and use some funky magic to keep them away from the war...?  
  
Hey, that would make for an interesting back-story for how Hogsmead   
came into existence...  
  
Bah, any way, review responses...  
  
Lady Russell Holmes - Nope, not forever. I wouldn't be able to run   
through with my Evil Evil Plan if Nate was guilty ridden into   
eternity.  
  
Phoenix Flight - Yeah! Now, Nate can run around being a whacked out   
rocker again. ^__^  
  
Wolf - *bows* Updated soon enough?   
  
wicchick - Wow, cool; thanks for putting me on your lists. Ahhh, it's   
to bad you missed the concert. I missed their latest concert here at   
home, too. I sulked for a few weeks after that...  
  
StarBurst598 - I used to update every Sat-Sun-Mon, but I haven't been   
managing that lately, no matter how hard I try. So I'll just go with   
the fact that I can update between one to seven days after the last   
chapter, although it's probably safer to go with checking every four   
or five days. You'll either get one or two new chapters up.  
  
Eriol's bear - Remus is alive. He's just been out of touch for awhile.   
I would never hurt my favorite character! *pauses* Okay, I might, but   
I would never _kill_ him! There's slash in a fic I'm working on called   
Mein Kaiser. Of course, I haven't posted it because it's no where near   
ready to be put online...  
  
Scamber Dragon - Helkaer's likely going to come back to Hogwarts. Not   
to sure about Elear. He's kinda stuck on the whole   
being-loyal-to-the-female-drows thing. He doesn't much like Weapon...   
Fudge is going down-- and only by Katar. Katar has a lot of pent-up   
frustration with the Minister hehehehehehehe  
  
deadredsocks - Socks, you have one of the most unusual handles I have   
ever seen. Go you! And you actually sat down to read for five hours?   
Go you, even more! I like to think of myself as a god (*poses*), and   
obviously I don't have any serious confidence issues. So sure, I can   
be a god. I think I shall call myself Goddess Itch... hmmm, no, that   
doesn't sound right. Guess I'm still calling myself The Itch ^__^   
Unless the story is meant to be a romance from the first chapter,   
throwing romance in ruins everything. Kinky sex scenes are fun ~_^  
  
howling wolf - Oh yeah, he's going down, mwahahahahaha!!  
  
Jessica Knight - I checked this chapter for typos, hopefully I didn't   
miss any! *pauses* And you will never know that in that last sentence   
I made a typo. Urp, I just told you, so know you know... Beta reader?   
Hmm, I have someone in mind, therefore, all that is needed is an email   
out!   
  
A-Potter-Person - Posted!  
  
Flummox - Nope, neither Harry nor Weapon is going to _make_ him.   
Although... someone else likely will. She plays an important part in   
the future, heh heh heh. Whoo, I sound like Ganondorf in LoZ:OoT ^__^  
  
Black Rose - And I love to write comments for AAW.  
  
Tasidia - That's a good idea. Maybe he will!  
  
And I'd post the links to AAW and Lupine Night, but they didn't show   
up in the last chapter. What happenened there??  
  
Le Potter-verse belongs to Mademoiselle Rowling, who is not, nor will   
ever be, the chick known as the Itch.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Fifty-Two: Allies  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
"Helkaer!?"  
  
Through half-lidded emerald eyes, Harry Potter watched the armor-  
wearing female dark elf screech at the older of his two Drow guides.   
Like the males, her hair was silver-white, and skin a tone of blue-  
black, however, unlike the two men, she only had a single eye of   
bloodied ruby, the other hidden behind a dark eyepatch. For a   
fleeting moment, he compared this warrior elf with the image in his   
mind of Fujin from Final Fantasy Eight, and smirked. Then the dark-  
skinned Fujin continued her screeching, pointing one gauntleted hand   
at the Living Weapon, "What is the meaning of bringing an unchained   
_edan_ here?!"  
  
"Sulnore," Helkaer greeted politely, with just the barest tips of his   
head. Elear's eyes were locked on the ground, and missed his older   
brother's impertence, merely whispering a soft, "Warrior-Priestess."   
as his own greeting.   
  
"Helkaer!" she bellowed, bringing the bo staff laying upon her   
shoulder to bare, resting it against his adam's apple. He didn't even   
flinch, Weapon noted to himself. Obviously, this elf had long since   
gotten used to being forced into something against his will, "Your   
insolence has grown more and more with each passing day! Not only do   
you bring one of the _edan_" she spat the word, "into the caves, but   
now you refuse to bow to your betters?!"  
  
The staff moved from being positioned at his throat, to cutting   
through the air with a whistle, ready to crack the male Drow upside   
the head and likely knock him for a loop. However, her will was   
thwarted when Helkaer's golden Power-wrought hand intercepted the   
attack, catching the wood in a vice-like grip. His own, ruby eyes   
glinted dangerously beneath his silver fringe.   
  
"What in the earth...?" whispered Sulnore, eye locked on the glinting   
appendage.  
  
"A token," and Harry brought the female's attention unto himself, "I   
took his hand, I might as well give it back to him. Modified, of   
course. Looks much nicer than Pettigrew's, I might add."  
  
The woman-- not to mention the two males-- looked confused at his   
words, trying to puzzle out a meaning, but he merely waved a hand   
with a wide grin, "But that's not what we're here for. Helkaer?"  
  
"My Lord?" Sulnore's eye nearly popped out of her head at the   
reverence the well known impudent Drow was showering on this human   
male.  
  
"Who is it that is in control of your people?"  
  
"Sulnore's mother is Kaiserin," the eldest of the gathered Drow   
intoned calmly, "Sulnore should have been heir, but..."  
  
Sulnore's single eye glittered angrily, fingers reaching up to brush   
against the disfiguring scar that ruined the left side of her face   
and stole her eye. That mark would always haunt her, and her voice   
was a low, a serpentine hiss that-- to her confusion-- seemed to   
amuse the 'edan' watching her, "My... sister... took my eye, took my   
beauty, took my throne!"  
  
Helkaer's own ruby eyes sparkled, and the watching Elear edged away   
from this group. He didn't want to be associated with them in any   
way, shape, or form. Harry noted his panicked flight from the group,   
but ignored it. The younger elf hardly mattered at this point in   
time. Perhaps in the future-- what he wouldn't give to have Ron down   
here with his visions!-- but for now... the Weapon dropped his hand   
onto the ousted Heir's shoulder, a chill smile crossing his lips.  
  
"I could help you get your throne back."  
  
---  
  
The door to the ministry blew off it's hinges, but what was behind it   
was not what was expected. The attacking Death Eaters had assumed   
that they were working in secrecy; that all that would be behind   
those doors would be ill-prepared politicians.  
  
Not forty trained Aurors.  
  
Fudge's paranoia had done something right-- depending on perspective,   
of course. His belief that his former bodyguard would be hunting him   
down had him fleeing the relative safety of the Ministry building.   
Over the course of three days, one by one had the rest of the   
ministers present in the building had learned of the Minister of   
Magic's flight, and mimicked it themselves, going into hiding.   
  
So the Members of the Ministry were safe and well.   
  
Just without contact between one another. Even as the Aurors and the   
Death Eaters battled, both sides losing men and women, but ultimately   
the Aurors winning, the government was scattered. There was no one to   
control them. Anarchy was crossing the threshold, leaving the British   
Wizarding Community ripe for the pickings... not unlike muggle Russia   
at the end of the muggle World War One.  
  
All it would take was a single man, and the teeter-totter of volatile   
situations would crash to one side, and whomever was left standing   
would be the victor. To the victor go the spoils, after all.   
  
And in this case, the spoils happened to be the control over the   
British Wizards and Witches.  
  
---  
  
Remus Lupin watched the sky for only a few short moments before he   
continued his trudging through the English country-side on his   
passage back to Hogwarts from Mongolia. Good bloody Merlin, he hated   
his life sometimes. Early February was not exactly a time he liked to   
travel during, especially when he was trying to keep out of public   
eye.   
  
From time to time he apperated, but it was far safer to walk. It had   
been a lot more bearable when Sirius had been with him, but his long   
time friend and doggy-companion had remained behind with his godson.   
It was understandable; Harry must have been going through quite the   
trying time, considering his appearance the last time the werewolf   
had seen him.   
  
He'd looked like a wraith-- pale, pale white under the crescent moon   
of early morning, swathed in black from head to toe, with chin-  
length, dirty black hair that put Sirius and James' teenaged lengthy   
locks to shame in the arena of 'messy'. His green eyes had seemed so   
bright, but it was with the light of insanity, not the light of youth   
and courage as he remembered from back when Harry had been in third   
and forth year.   
  
That had been years ago, however, and time changed a person. A bitter   
laugh crossed the man's lips. Changed a person indeed-- he merely   
needed to look at himself or Sirius to prove that fact. Oh well,   
things to think of for another day.  
  
For now... he tugged his pack up higher on his back and continued his   
leisurely walk through the fields, oblivious to the world he was   
about to re-enter, oblivious to the troubles and problems careening   
headlong towards him, once he returned to the place he   
considered 'home' above all others.  
  
---  
  
Fingers trailing along the cold, chill stone wall, Hermione let her   
mind drift. This maze was utterly infuriating. She had lost track of   
time somewhere, and her lack of magic kept her from doing much more   
than shuffling along, one hand pressed smooth against the wall, the   
other tucked into her pocket, repeatedly clenching the fist around   
those bloody black stones that were utterly useless.   
  
The Enchantress had thought, several times, of throwing those stones   
away, but something within her said they were important, and   
therefore, she kept them. That still didn't keep them from being   
bloody well annoying.  
  
The only reason she knew she'd gotten anywhere into the maze was the   
couple of times she'd had to change directions, due to the stone   
walls turning on her. It was alright when the passages turned away   
from her, however, when they turned so that the wall moved in front   
of her nose, it got a bit painful. If she didn't smack her breasts or   
face against the stone with her steps, she slammed her knees, toes or   
fingers into the smooth rocks. The fingers of her left hand were   
bloodied and bruised, but she was positive she was going the right   
way.   
  
Wasn't it always turn left, and you'd get out of the maze? She was   
sure that she'd read that somewhere. As it was, nothing had happened   
as of yet, so she couldn't tell if she was following the correct   
passage or not.  
  
The grinding noise of the passages changing position around her did   
nothing to reassure her.  
  
---  
  
Nate was jerked out of his relaxing sleep by Pavarti landing on top   
of him as she collapsed into the cot. He'd vacated Blaise's when the   
younger male had returned a few hours earlier. Apparently, he was in   
the bed of one of the Padma twins, considering the fact that the   
Gryffindor twin was laying on top of him. And he was now in bunny   
form, once again.   
  
With an annoyed sigh, he tried to wriggle out from under the sleepy   
Druid, but her arms tightened around him in an almost choke hold,   
tugging him up to be squeezed to her chest like he was some sort of   
living teddy bear. Since she'd never once fully let go of him, he   
didn't change back to human shape, and was therefore in no shape to   
escape.   
  
Closing his eyes, he began to almost ritualistically chant, "What you   
say, can't believe, I want to know what's right. What you say, can't   
believe, I want to know what's right. What you say, can't believe, I   
want to know what's right. What you say is unbelievable..."  
  
Blaise cracked an eye open from his own cot, catching the words his   
friend was half muttering half singing in a desperate attempt to   
ignore the fact that he was being held by someone of the female   
persuasion. After all, girls were scary.  
  
However, he made no move to help said friend out of his predicament,   
instead going over what Nathaniel had told him when he'd first   
returned from training, and thus what he'd relayed back to Sirius.   
Sirius was one of the Living Weapons, and therefore, was likely to be   
listened to by the others. The Weapons could come up with a plan for   
how the Druids and the other former Hogwarts Students could react to   
Nate's stunning discoveries.  
  
Indoctrination... it wasn't a word that any of the pureblooded   
wizards had any knowledge of. It had been assumed to just be one of   
those "muggle things", and promptly disregarded. But now that Blaise   
understood the term, knew roughly what it entailed, he found himself   
sick to the stomach. It sounded a lot like what had been going on for   
years.   
  
Cultural brainwashing, it seemed, stemmed far beyond the limits of   
muggle society.   
  
The history course that had once been offered at Hogwarts, less than   
two months earlier, had been a joke. All they ever talked about was   
goblin revolution after goblin revolution. What about the Wizards and   
Witches of history? What of the Salem Witch-hunt? The muggle   
Inquisition, or the Holy Crusades? The World Wars-- a subject he   
found himself at a loss for; if these muggle wars had involved the   
whole planet, why were the wizards and witches being taught of them?--  
and other such muggle actions and battles he had to have explained   
to him by Nate. And Nathaniel Calaveras was hardly an expert in such   
matters.  
  
As the Ravenclaw had said-- he knew only what he learned from his   
family's dinnertime discussions over summer vacation. The Slytherin   
could understand Nathaniel's want to live in the muggle world now. In   
the muggle world, things were much easier-- because that world knew   
of their mistakes, and taught about them. The Wizarding World was   
lacking in that department.  
  
Oh, he didn't doubt that some of the other countries on the planet   
were probably better educated, and likely to not have been censored   
as much as Fudge's government, and perhaps the government prior to   
him, or even prior to the previous prior government, but it was hard   
to think of such things. Especially after having just had the fact   
that Fudge might not have been as much of an idiot as everyone   
thought shoved into his face.   
  
After all, what would you have to fear from an idiot who's likely to   
be very easy to manipulate? Therein lay his ingenious; he could twist   
things like the best of them. He had people in the publishing center   
of the Daily Prophetic, checking over the newspapers. Not, as   
everyone had been told when they'd been introduced, to cast charms   
over them to keep the younger children from being able to view   
anything that could be considered 'harmful' to their mindsets, but to   
keep the stories to the "Truth" laid out by the Minister of Magic.  
  
Or perhaps he really was an idiot, and it was someone else behind the   
lines, manipulating the Minister. Either way, it didn't matter. There   
was someone high up there that was pulling the strings.   
  
Blaise made a note to talk to Katar. The Missing Weapon had been in   
Cornelius' employ for over a decade. He'd likely know who was pulling   
the strings.   
  
On that end, he returned his attention back to Nate's attempts to get   
out of Pavarti's grip, and not think about being held by a 'scary,   
scary girl'. He knew he shouldn't laugh at Calaveras' fears but...   
well, it was just to funny an image to pass up!  
  
---  
  
End Chapter 


	53. Matter

Please note that I've gone back and rewriten chapter 41. There are   
some pretty serious differences from the first one. I'll be rewriting   
other chapters following 41 so that I can do some stuff I really want   
to do. I just needed a way to do it. -- The Itch  
  
---  
  
Yeah, it's been a few weeks, and I'd like to apologize for the lack of   
chapters.  
  
Viruses are a bitch-- and I don't just mean the computer viruses.   
After I sprained my wrist a couple weeks back (when I missed my first   
weekly chapter-ness. The guys in my group heard about it while I was   
awkwardly typing one-handed) I ended up catching the flu. We're still   
debating if I caught it from Leigh, Leigh's brother, or Leigh's mom,   
since they all had it. .  
  
Erebus - Next chapter is (finally) out. Multiple items you say? I've   
been there, although I'm usually being told to get off one of the   
consol systems I've got (four of them, likely soon to be five) ^__^  
  
legion - I didn't really want romance in this fic. It has a bad   
tendancy to take over and destroy my plotlines. No, really, it does.   
Be forever thankful that none of you have ever read the original   
'Series Offense' (one of the stories I'm rewriting). Somehow it went   
from being a dark fic into being a lovey-dovey fic.   
  
Shila - *thud-smack* I get the feeling you want 78 chapters or more...   
Drow seriously rock. Why else would I put them in? ^__^  
  
Esperanze Fuega - scratching the walls with stones wouldn't really   
help. I guess you missed the line where I wrote that the walls were   
shifting from place to place, the maze in an eternal state of   
movement.   
  
Caet Rae - I'm trying to avoid making mistakes any more. Still... they   
do have a band tendancy to happen, and sometimes I don't catch them   
when I read over the fic.   
  
Phoenix Flight - Shock is far to light a word for what Remus is going   
to get when he finally comes back to Hogwarts ^__^  
  
Scamber Dragon - Yeah, Sulnore is the main connection between the two,   
but not likely for the reason you're thinking. *rubs her hadns   
together* Mwahahahahahaha~  
  
lostgirl - I take pride in coming up with new things. I haven't seent   
he censorship deal in other fics either, it just seemed to... jump out   
at me. I don't know, it always seemed like there was something wrong   
with that bit of information. That there was only one paper, and thus   
only one idea being presented to the world. *shrugs*   
  
howling wolf - You're quite welcome to do a Spin-Off ^__^  
  
Earunda - Sulnore lost the thrown to her as of yet unnamed sister.   
Helkaer is the drow who respects Harry most, due to the replacement of   
his hand. Sulnore is the one missing her eye; it was considered bad   
luck to have a ruler with one eye, because she couldn't see everything   
that happened around her. Thus she lost her thrown to her sister when   
she lost her eye.  
  
Eaiva le Fay - Draco's over with Black Rose's character, Rosanna, in   
america. I believe they just got into a fight. The Drow exist in my   
AU, the only reason the majority of the Wizadring World has no idea   
that they exist is because they live underground in heavily fortified   
caverns. Wizards attribute people vanishing into them to dragons.  
  
RainWaters - Hints? *waggles a finger* Ah-ah, that will spoil the   
surprise.  
  
Fool's Defense - Hmmm, maybe, maybe not. I'll have to think about   
Remus becoming a Living Weapon.   
  
Brion - In the english version, it is never stated it Blaise is male   
or female (as such, Blaise in my RPG is actually female). However, I   
read somewhere that in the french version Blaise is said to be male.   
This is where all the confusion coems from on the arguement of whether   
Blaise is a he, or a she.   
  
Flummox - Yeah, I know what you mean. Normally I jump right over MOM   
stuff and get back to the interesting parts of the story. S'why I kept   
that part short. I'm glad you're happy with the way I'm doing things,   
oh evil minnion reviewer (fan) of mine.   
  
Black Rose - I hast decided. Somehow or another, I will send Severus   
to you. Now, I just have to figure out a way to send him off... hmm...  
  
Harry Potter is a product of JK Rowling's mind. Itch is not Rowling.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Fifty-Three: Matter  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
The dark caverns of the Drow were not usually quite so loud. Normally,   
the echoing of bellowed shouts and outraged screeches would have rung   
painfully in any listening Drow's ears, the dark elves having such   
extreme hearing to help pinpoint the origins of the haunting echoes of   
the sounds their prey made.   
  
Today, however, was not a normal day.  
  
One of the edan walked the passages of the Kaiserin's noble city of   
Agarwaen. Without the chains or garments that would have portrayed him   
as a slave. No, the edan stood tall, black hair messily surrounding   
chilling eyes of emerald, the glint of the city's pale silver lighting   
shimmering off the metal that decorated his face and ears. He was   
dressed, from head to toe, in black, and the cool curve of his lips   
was something that would be seen in the nightmares of the youngest of   
Drow for years to come.  
  
Beside him, her stride equal to that, neither overtaking, nor falling   
behind, was the former heir to the throne, Sulnore of House   
Mor'kuunemegil, herself. Her battle staff rested comfortably against   
her back in it's normal sheath, although it one looked closely, it   
appeared to have a network of cracks near one end. The dark cloak   
marked with the symbol commonly found upon the back a black widow   
spider signified her as one of the Warrior-Priestesses that guarded   
the entrances and exits of the city. The silver that decorated her   
black boots and gauntlets shimmered almost sinisterly as she walked,   
calmly, by the edan.  
  
Sulnore had been one of the Drow had participated in a riot some years   
back over the edan slaves living in Agarwaen-- she'd wanted them all   
publically executed.  
  
To have her walking by one...!  
  
And to have Helkaer, a well known dissident, and not exactly someone   
who would bow his head to any, gliding along behind them... was not   
exactly something that cheered people. They had never seen Helkaer   
move so swiftly, so silently and with an aura of lethality before.   
There were some who had known of his training in the city's foremost   
army some years back, but he had left the company shortly after being   
informed that even if he had the talent, he would never be put to use.   
The army was female run, and men were little more than breeding stock.   
The only reason Helkaer had even been allowed into the corps was   
because one of his older sisters had pulled a number of strings.   
  
Common belief was that she did it to get him out of her, her sisters,   
and her mother's hair.  
  
But that was neither here nor now, and the people of the city raised   
their voices in outrage as the edan walked freely, as the former heir   
strode calmly, and the most well known figurehead for men's rights   
activists slipped past them.   
  
A rock came soaring out of the shadows of one building, where a number   
of teenaged Drow had taken to sitting. Their leader's ruby eyes   
glinted maliciously, and she hefted another rock. The first had   
skimmed the edan's head, causing him to halt. Piercing green eyes   
turned to stare coolly up at the female who had thrown the rock.  
  
"Go back to where you came from, Edan!" she bellowed, whipping the   
rock at his head, once more.   
  
"Shouldn't have done that," Helkaer smirked. The edan failed to look   
impressed, even as the rock arched through the air, ready to slam him   
directly between the eyes.  
  
One foot away, the rock exploded into a cloud of dust-- dust that   
could not go past the barrier that surrounded the edan. His chill   
smile stretched into a most certainly psychotic grin.  
  
"Stupid, stupid mistake," he purred, and the green in his eyes seemed   
to leech away, leaving him with icy silver-steel irises.   
  
Then the collective mouths of the watching citizens fell open as the   
edan's already abused shirt tore into pieces, fluttering to the   
ground. They didn't really care about that.  
  
It was the massive silver and black wings that had shorn his back   
open, splattering blood here and there, on Sulnore and Helkaer, and   
those watching. It was the talons that tipped his hands. It was the   
tail covered in boney protrusions. It was the muzzle full of razor   
bladed fangs.  
  
It was all that put together alongside the look in his eyes that   
clearly told the foolish Drow that she wasn't going to like her fate.   
  
Her throat had seemed paralyzed for an eternal moment. And then she   
found her voice, a terrified scream rippling out and over the city as   
the Living Weapon lunged for her.   
  
---  
  
"Bloody fucking _hell_!"   
  
The shriek echoed through the passages of the dreary maze, and   
Hermione Granger shook her hand, knuckles stinging horribly. Anger and   
frustration had finally gotten the better of the sixteen year old, and   
the Enchantress had foolishly slammed her fist into the closest wall.   
Blood dribbled from her knuckles, both from attacking the wall itself,   
and from the scratches that had been created as she had dragged her   
hands along the walls. Upon deciding that shaking her hand wasn't   
really helping, the teenager stuffed a knuckle into her hand and   
sucked at the bloodied digit.   
  
The coppery taste in her mouth wasn't exactly welcome, but at that   
moment, she didn't really care. Merlin be damned, but it hurt.  
  
With annoyance coloring her gaze, she lifted her eyes from the pale   
white of her hands, to stare around the passage that she was standing   
in. Over her time in the maze, her eyes had adjusted-- apparently, the   
lack of light hadn't been absolute, otherwise she would never have   
been able to see without a spell-- but it hadn't helped her any. All   
there had been was passage after passage, the aggravating sound of the   
walls shifting positions around her, as only a magical labyrinth   
could.   
  
Which was confusing. How could the walls be magic, and yet, she unable   
to use hers...?  
  
As her gaze flickered over the walls and the strange symbols   
decorating the walls, she caught sight of something near the floor.   
Curiously, and yet warily, as she had not seen anything of the like   
since she had begun this stupid 'test' as she had mentally dubbed it,   
Granger stepped closer, dropping into a crouch to investigate whatever   
it was that lay along the floor.  
  
It appeared to be a simple metal bar, long and straight, almost two   
and a half feet. Gingerly, she reached out, picking the bar up off the   
ground, and she startled to hear the scraping of metal across the   
stone floor. Her gaze shifted to the distance between floor and bar,   
surprised to note the chain dangling down from the end. Apparently,   
that had been what had been making the irritating grinding noise.   
  
Carefully, the female tugged the chain-- and it was a good thing she'd   
only carefully pulled it. Any harder, and she would have likely ended   
up on her back, as the chain was unattached to anything. How odd.   
  
Investigation revealed that the length of chain could slide into the   
metal bar, although it refused to stay in until she had the end that   
the chain came out of straight up. Gravity could be both helpful and a   
hindrance. Hermione was leaning more toward hindrance with this new   
development. However, she slid the metal bar between her back and her   
belt, hoping that it would stay there.   
  
She had no idea what the metal and chain were for, but she was rather   
hoping that it would help her get out of this infuriating maze.   
  
She didn't notice that the sound of the movement of the passages   
behind her slowed, and slowly, very, very slowly, came to a halt.   
  
---  
  
Nathaniel Calaveras was, at the same time, both glad and sad that he   
was leaving the Training Center at last. He couldn't tell how long   
he'd been in there, exactly-- he hadn't bothered to keep track-- but   
it was certainly close to six months. Less than a day had gone by, but   
that didn't really matter to him. What mattered was what he'd thought   
of, all the scenarios, all the problems, everything he'd bounced off   
Blaise, who had in turn bounced them off of Dart.   
  
Shaking his head, the human cursed to become a rabbit with but a touch   
stuffed his hands into his pockets and wandered away from the doors of   
the Training Center. He was distantly aware of slipping past various   
members of Harry Potter's 'army', although they likely hadn't even   
realized he was there. If the months in the Training Center had taught   
him anything, it was how not to be seen.   
  
After all, if one wasn't training, one wasn't supposed to be in the   
Training Center, and Sirius Black was well known for the inventive   
ways he would 'convince' someone to train if he caught them in the   
Center and not training. Nate had become a master of stealth while   
avoiding the oldest of Hogwarts' Living Weapons. Still, he had the   
feeling that Black had known he was there, the Power would have   
pointed it out to him, but either Black was to preoccupied with   
training the Druids, or Nate's own abilities were good enough to   
circumvent the Power.  
  
Calaveras was leaning towards Dart being distracted.  
  
"And a voice that's dark like tinted glass. She is fast, thorough, and   
sharp as a tack. She is touring the facility and picking up slack! I   
want a girl with a short skirt, and a long, long jacket!" he sung   
rather loudly as he sauntered into a room at random, not really   
noticing or caring where he went. Well no, he'd freak if he'd wandered   
into the girls washrooms while he'd been out of it and singing.  
  
"God dammit, Nathaniel," grumped the brunette at the computer,   
hacking satellites, "Would you stop singing your stupid songs for one   
day?!"  
  
"Uh... no," he grinned, and purposely sung even louder, utilizing his   
special 'ability' to drown out that gynephobic voice in the back of   
his head, "I want a girl with smooth liquidation! I want a girl with   
good divid--" he was cut off by having the girl's boot thrown at him.   
With a yelp, he dropped to the floor and watched the foot wear sail   
over head, "You're so mean!"  
  
"Wrong way to say it, numbskull. You do it like this:" the other   
Ravenclaw chirped, and then purposely pitched her voice fair to high,   
"You so mean!"  
  
"Oh god... anime freak..." Nathaniel moaned, all to familiar with   
anime thanks to his annoying older sister, before he rolled over and   
buried his face between the stones of the floor. After a few minutes,   
he blinked, slowly, "Hey, this is actually comfortable."  
  
"And you're a moron," was the dry response of the Living Weapon who   
had just entered. Ginny nudged him with her toes, "Get up, Nate. Got a   
new mission for you."  
  
He rolled over again, staring up at her, blinking owlishly. Strange   
how this was the only female in the whole school who didn't scare him   
shitless, when it should be the other way around. She was lethal,   
right? A Living Weapon, capable of ripping him into itty-bitty tiny   
pieces... but he wasn't afraid of her. He was afraid of all the girls   
who could do little more than cast an itching curse on him. Weird.   
  
"I'm a political liaison," he half-whined, "Why do I have to go on a   
mission?"  
  
"Because the government is scattered," the brunette added helpfully,   
before returning to her job manning the computer systems.   
  
"Say wha...?"  
  
"We just got news of it, ourselves," and suddenly Ginny Weasley was   
General Gunn. The shift was a start, but not all that surprising. Nate   
pulled himself to his feet in response, falling into step behind the   
younger female as she headed towards the computer screens and the   
brown haired hacker. It was a bit of a struggle to force down his   
natural reaction to run, but he did it. Gunn's finger targeted the   
satellite-mapped image on the screen, "You see this?"  
  
"Yeah, I see it. So?"  
  
"That's the head office of the Ministry of Magic, Nathaniel," Ginny   
crossed her arms and stared dispassionately at the building, "Some   
hours ago, Erika here watched the Death Eaters raid it."  
  
"Damn," Nate whistled. They were getting their courage up, were   
they...? "How many corpses?"  
  
"Uncounted," Erika returned calmly, manipulating the satellite to zoom   
in on the map. It did as commanded, and the image on screen got   
larger, and more detailed, "There were no Ministry agents insi--"  
  
"Dammit!" Nathaniel cursed, whirling in a furious circle and starting   
to pace back and forth, "I was _really_ hoping that the Ministry would   
have just been destroyed!"  
  
The two females watched his antics curiously, not having expected the   
explosion. Sure Nate was well known for his stunning array of   
emotions, but he hadn't had one of his serious mood swings for some   
time now. Nathaniel was muttering under his breath irritably, one foot   
after another, trying to calm himself down without the use of his   
beloved bass guitar. Once that had been accomplished-- and nearly ten   
minutes had passed-- Ginny began to speak.  
  
"Thanks for that amusing show, Nate. Any way, what I want you to do is   
simple. You're going to take a message to one of the Ministers."  
  
"Oh, gee, thanks," grumbled Calaveras, "I'd rather not get anywhere   
near a minister right now. At least without a weapon. Can I bring a   
weapon?"  
  
"No!" barked the girl, "You are _not_ going to injure my father,   
_do_you_understand_me_?!"  
  
"Eep!"  
  
---  
  
End Chapter.  
  
w00t, go me! I finally finished this chapter. No serious revelations   
about indoctrinations or censorship in this chapter though. Just some   
good old murder and mayhem in the first part and Nate-ness in the   
last. And Hermione's actually starting to get somewhere. ^__^ 


	54. Finding

I apologize for the lack of the chapters for the last couple months.   
There's not much I can do when I stall out mid-sentence.

amythest as well as KoChanneo - Do either of you sleep? Oo;;

MostEvilKitten - Thanks for the praise ^__^

micah - I'm a god of fucking? Okay, yeah, I know what you _really_   
meant but I have a dirty mind as of late. Well, considering I have 779   
reviews at this moment, you're most assuredly not the only one!

~>~ - Writer's block.

Adrielle - My mind is very twisted, and I am friends with very strange   
people (Leigh, aka Priest Li Xiang, for example...) and that's where   
my ideas come from ^__^

Oops - Yeah, most people are shocked when they find out that there's   
no 'next' after reading 53 chapters. But look! Here's chapter 54!

Pamela - Draco's in the American High School because Black Rose is   
writing a spinoff.

CastusAlbusCor - *laughs* At least you didn't do like some people I   
could name and waste the majority of their sleeping hours reading it.

Lady Russell Holmes - There's been some fanart over on the mailing   
list.

Cassipia - ... Okay, sure. Now... what type of 'love' is it? *pervert   
grin*

Shila - Finally got some more up for ya.

Sera Luanma/K-ko - Wow, that's the most in-depth review I've had in a   
long time. I'm glad you like what I've written, and that Nathaniel's   
appearance did not put you off of it. 

Eaiva le Fay - *snickers* Maybe there's a minotaru, maybe there's not.   
You'll just have to wait and see, non?

Black Rose - Mmhmm, Sev is coming your way. Just have to get that part   
written up. Probably around chapter fifty-six or fifty-seven. 

Phoenix Flight - *chuckles* I get the feeling that a lot of my readers   
get their 'evil' kick out of this, when they don't normally, as you   
said, "turn a blind eye" to that sort of thing. I couldn't find a way   
to put Remus in this chapter. He just didn't want me to put him in,   
and since he's my muse, I have to listen to what he says. *nodnodnod*

Flummox - Hello my evil minnion. Sorry this took so bloody long... Ah   
the warm fuzzies of Harry's scary-ness. It's all fun ^__^ Nate's motto   
when it comes to the ladies: run away... especially if they're   
throwing boots!

Scamber Dragon - I hope I'm forgiven for the er... two months it's   
been since I put the last one up...

Tiny - The end of last chapter was my way of kicking Nate out of the   
story for awhile, actually. He was just taking over. So I made him go   
track down good old Arthur Weasley. That'll get the parents in, too.   
Now, if I could just get a good hold on the characters again...

Ever notice that they have the most pathetic insults in Harry Potter?   
If I was writing it they would be cussing not calling people   
'dunderheads'. Therefore, I'm not writing it, nor do I own it.

---

Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Fifty-Four - Finding  
The Itch

---

Silence.

It had taken almost ten minutes to realize that the grinding of the   
moving passages had begun to quiet, and much longer to listen to them   
come to a halt. Why had they stopped moving? Well, this _would_   
certainly make things easier, she mused, fingers reaching back to   
brush along the golden length tucked into her belt. And what exactly   
was this bar for? Or the black stones in her pocket?

It was confusing, but everything had been since she had found out that   
Harry wasn't the boy who had vanished the Wizarding World a year and a   
half earlier.

Shaking her head, Hermione sighed, tilting her head back and rubbing   
at the bridge of her nose. Not only was she confused, but she was   
getting very, very annoyed. When would she get out of this bloody   
maze?! Growling, she dropped her head and started to take another step  
when she froze. Was she seeing things? 

She stepped back to her last position, tilting her head. 

Nope, definitely not seeing things. 

There was a crack of even more darkness in the wall; the crack was   
perpendicular to the passage, exactly where she stood. If she had   
taken but that one more step, she would have missed it. Curiously, she  
stepped closer, and realized with a start that there was a ring of   
gold at the top of the two inch-wide crack. She tugged the gold bar   
out of her belt, looking at it's end, then the gold ring. 

They were the same size.

Carefully aligning the two, she began to screw in the end that the   
chain fell out of into the golden ring. One final twist and...

The halls flooded with light, and after so long in darkness, she   
hissed and threw up an arm to protect her sensitive eyes. Goddamn but  
that had hurt.

She started when the golden bar slipped through her fingers-- she had   
expected it to be stuck in the top of the crack/roof when she had   
connected the two pieces. Apparently not, as she held the now   
five-foot golden bar in her hands. It wasn't quite long enough to be   
considered a true wizarding staff, but nowhere near short enough to be   
a cane. So what was it?

In the newly lit passages, she investigated the bar very carefully.   
How... unusual... experimentally, she tugged lightly on both ends of   
the gold. 

They separated, and the length of chain extended between them--   
connected somehow. How interesting. It appeared she had gotten her   
hands on a flail of some sort. Not that she had even seen a solid gold   
flail before. 

Well, that would just be stupid to have a solid gold flail. It would   
bend on impact. Must only be gold-plated then.

She reconnected the two ends, turning a flail back into a staff,   
whirling it skillfully around her hands, feeling at ease with the five   
foot length of gold-plated steel. Well, at least she felt at ease with   
it until it spun out of her hands and clattered to the floor.

The Enchantress blushed and repeatedly thanked God that there had been   
no one around to witness her fumble with her new weapon. Picking it   
up, she changed it back into it's flail format, and tucked it once   
again into her belt. It was going to take some time to get used to,   
and to learn how to use, but she'd deal with _that_ when she got out   
of this goddamned maze.

Well, at least there were lights now. Hermione took out her athame and   
scratched a small 'x' into the wall beside the crack. Then she turned   
and began to wind her way through the maze once more.

---

Weapon calmly used what was left of the drow-girl's shirt to wipe her   
blood from his hands. The crowds had fled when he began to tear into   
her, and so it was only he, Helkaer, and Sulnore left on the streets.   
The rightful Heir crossed her arms, gaze cool as she watched the edan   
clean himself off after destroying one of her peoples. She could find   
no reason to care about the foolish girl who had brought her own death   
down upon her head.

But the one-eyed warrior-priestess was getting impatient, "Well,   
Weapon? How long is this going to take? I'm not getting any younger."

"Calm down, Princess," Weapon returned in his soft monotone, "You'll   
have your throne within the day."

"I'd better," snapped the irrate drow. Helkaer snickered softly,   
smirking at the dirty glare that the female shot him. Weapon tosses   
aside the cloth, reverting to Harry with a sickening lurch as his   
wings were sucked back into his body. The green-eyed youth blinked and   
smiled.

"Well, that was fun!" cheerfully, he began to walk through the now   
silent streets, once again headed for Sulnore's mother's palace. They   
were unobstructed, the whispers of Weapon's brutal slaughter of the   
girl racing on ahead of them.

---

The youngest Weasley was fit to be tied.

Her eyes blazed-- quite literally-- as she stomped around the Great   
Hall. Where the _hell_ were Draco, Hermione and Harry?!

Everyone else was gathered int he Hall with her, but those three   
appeared to have vanished completely. Sirius and Katar stood like   
guards at the door, the four Druids were gathered at a table, talking   
with Ron and that 'cracker' girl, while Trelawney appeared to be   
attempting to convince Snape that she really _could_ see the future.   
It didn't appear to be working-- nor was Virginia's attempts to locate   
the Three Freaks using the spirits and elementals she could see. They   
were just... gone.

Annoyed, the youngest weapon reached out as far as her senses--   
amplified by the Power-- could reach, and yet there was still n-- hold   
up. Right there, on the edges of her control, she could just barely   
sense a weapon. Focusing her power in that direction, she was   
surprised to realize that it was Draco.

In America.

What the _hell_ was he doing in America?

"Snape," her voice rang out sharply, catching the Potions Professor's   
attention, not to mention the attention of everyone else int he room,   
"Do you know of a scrying potion?"

"... I do," the former Deatheater admitted after a few moments, "Why,   
praytell, do you ask?"

"Because Draco's in America, and I'd like to know what the bloody hell   
he thinks he's doing there."

---

End Chapter

Chapters will be a bit shorter than normal, until I can get back into   
the 'writing groove'. It'll happen, just maybe not perfectly quickly.   
I'll try, though.  



	55. Agarwaen

Natasha/Time Jumper - Yeah, took long enough, hey? I'm going to be   
trying for getting a chapter up every couple of days. Like I said in   
my profile... I owe everyone 33 chapters, because of my laziness and   
writter's block.

Litine - Glad you likes

Shila - Yeah, everyone's been waiting for too long, sorries.   
*snickers* Oh yeah, I can imagine Draco-dear bitching out all four of  
my vice principals-- and the substitute Principal who attempted to get   
me to stop wearing all my jewelery... *grins* I can't believe I hadn't   
thought of Herm in Labyrinth until you brought it up! *shakes her   
head* My head must not be on straight...

Mysterious666 - Will do, as long as my writter's block decides to stay   
away. I will attempt to ward it off with my reviews. Ah-ha! Take   
_that_, evil writter's block! *stabs at WB with review pages* 

(Yes, I am rather hyper. It's rather strange.)

mortal enemy of inanimate object - I love that handle. It rocks.   
*grins* A bunny on crack? *imagines that* Whoa, that's... really cool!   
I wonder if I can be a crack-bunny? Eh, anyway... hope you didn't get   
a concussion from slamming into those doors, although if you say it   
happens frequently... No worries, BS is back so you hopefully won't go   
into withdrawl... as for Herm's staff/flail/thingie... you'll just   
have to wait and see, non? Mwahahahahahahahahahahaha!!

KoChenneo - You sleep sometimes...? Well, it's certainly better than   
'never'. Had me kinda worried there. Yeah, I might take awhile to   
update from time to time, but bs will only end when I have a definite   
conclusion ^___^

Bryt - I hope I get past it soon, too. At least it didn't halt me for   
this chapter, and I hope to god it doesn't for the chapter that I plan   
to put up tommarrow. Pray for me ^__^ Ah... but _is_ it a weapon, or   
something else? :P

CastusAlbusCor - *Laughs* Took my time indeed. You wanted to be in a   
gloomy mood? I know BS can certainly cause it... but I didn't think   
people actively seeked out gloominess. *shrugs* Oh well, it doesn't   
really bother me ^__^

amythest - And here is the next chapter ^__^V

Mrph, I think I lost the majority of my regular reviewers... *sighs*   
Oh well, nothing that a few chapters a week shouldn't fix!

Obviously, as this is a fanfic, and not a novel, I don't own Harry   
Potter.

---

Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Fifty-Five - Agarwaen  
The Itch

---

Whistling some abstract little song, Harry made his was through   
Agarwaen, a sulking Sulnore on his left, and an amused Helkaer on his   
right. The Warrior-Priestess-Princess had been shocked out of her mind   
when she'd reached the more expensive districts of the city, having   
not been near them in years. She was a border-guard, originally   
designated there by her throne-stealing sister to keep her from   
attempting exactly what she was planning on doing in the next few   
hours. She had remained on the border-guard "shift" because she was   
the best there was.

So she hadn't realized how down-hill things had gone since her   
"beloved" sister took the reigns of the city out from under her. Their   
mother's way of training the next ruler was the same manner as her   
mother, and her mother before her-- slowly begin to turn over   
executive decisions to the Heir over a period of time.

Sulnore had been exceptionally skilled at managing the city; so   
skilled that she had often been referred to as a blessing from the   
goddess. She had brought a period of great wealth and prosperity to   
the city.

The single-eyed warrior had never thought that the reason why her   
rations kept decreasing was because Agarwaen was going to hell. It was  
hard to believe that the once immaculate buildings and sprawling   
parks of the inner-city were these dilaplated constructs and   
junkyards. Not with the increasingly opulent palace standing high  
above it all. Sulnore's dear sister obviously had no idea what she was   
doing.

Then again, Cath had never been one to think outside of her own   
well-being. The woman was a narcissist of the highest value. 

The former Heir had been angry at first, but had only begun to sulk   
when she realized that despite the fact that her sister had destroyed   
her city, her people would still follow Cath to the ends of the   
tunnels. 

It was rather depressing.

And Helkaer's snickering wasn't helping.

"Mani naa ta?!" she finally spat out, furious. The male drow lifted   
his hands, although he was still chuckling softly.

"Calm down, Taraer Sulnore," she scowled mightily at him-- Lofty One,   
indeed!-- and his smirk only widened into a shit-eating grin, "I was   
merely musing over our dearest Kaiserin-to-be's lack of knowledge of   
her own city."

Angrily, she spun her battle-staff off her back, jabbing it up to push   
hard against the soft flesh of his palate, "Auta miqula orqu."

"I'd rather not. Who knows where it's mouth has been?"

"That's the _point_ of kissing an orc, amada."

"Didn't the Kaiserin ever tell you that you shouldn't insult people,   
little princess?"

"Didn't Meiva ever train you to keep your mouth shut around your   
betters, Helkaer-_amada_?"

"Ah, but whoever said you were my better, Sulnore-dearest?"

"Call me that again," she purred, "and I will rip your head from your   
shoulders."

"That would be a little messy," both Drow jumped, having forgotten   
that they were with Harry when they began to argue. Gleaming emerald   
eyes shone with a strange mixture of insanity and calculating   
intelligence, a churning mass of emotions and problems rolling beneath   
their surface. It was always creepy staring into the eyes of the other   
half of Weapon, "Besides, I need Helkaer, Sulnore; he'll be important   
in things to come."

"Important how?" the woman narrowed her blood-colored eye sharply,   
"There is no _way_ I'd _ever_ let some lowlife male become important   
within _my_ rule, not even for one of the Living Weapons."

"Mmmhmmm," he nodded cheerfully, "You'll change your mind, soon   
enough."

"Not bloody likely," scowled the border-guard, tugging her black and   
silver cloak about her, "It's been too long since I came this far into   
the city."

"We'll be at the palace in ten minutes, maximum," murmured Helkaer,   
having interpreted her words for what they were really saying. Despite   
Sulnore and Helkaer's mutual hate-hate relationship, they had known   
each other long enough to be able to read each other like a book. It   
was part of the reason why Sulnore despised the merchant. She hated   
knowing that there was someone out there who knew her well enough to   
read her every word and action for what it really was, and not what   
she wanted everyone to believe.

They had met for the first time during the brief period that Helkaer   
had been in the city's armed forces, prior to his becoming a seller of   
edan slaves. When she had graduated from the course and been assigned   
to the border of the city, she had 're-met' Helkaer as he was leaving   
on an expedition with Elear to look for those edan foolish enough to   
have gotten lost within the tunnels.

She had found that she still hated him.

Helkaer had been surprised by the amount of venom in her voice, having   
not recognized her, due to only seeing her profile at the   
border-crossing. It wasn't until his return with three edan chained   
between himself and Elear that he had gotten to see her whole face.   
Their on-again-off-again rivalry had been struck up right then and   
there; Helkaer would always leave the city through the exit she   
guarded, and would always return through it, as well.

He liked exchanging insults with her, since the former Heir actually   
took the time to insult him, and would respond to his insults, instead   
of skipping right to the beating like most female drow would. And it   
always started out so pleasantly as well. 

In any case, it wasn't time to dwell on past memories, so the pair   
returned to their thoughts of what they were about to do. What they   
were about to participate in and what they would be doing to the city.

Sulnore, despite all her love for her mother, knew she'd have to   
remove the former Kaiserin as well. The head of the House of   
Mor'kuunemegil was very traditional. She would refuse to have a   
single-eyed drow as the Heir and next ruler of the city, for that   
stupid reason that she wouldn't be able to watch all. 

The scarred Princess didn't need both her eyes to see everything--   
something she'd well proved during her post as a border-guard. Her   
senses were enhanced by her training in the city's army unlike any   
other Kaiserin or Daughter of the House for nearly seventeen   
generations. And considering the lengthy lives of the dark elves, that   
was an extremely long time. 

Before she had lost her eye, she wouldn't have cared for the army. She   
would have been content to have been taught by the best of the city's   
philosophers, trained in the ways of managing a city, and that would   
be that. She would ascend the throne as her mother had, and rule with   
all the knowledge she had.

Then Cath had kidnaped her 'beloved' sister, and tortured her.   
Tortured her for days on end, fueling an intense burning rage that the   
true Heir had fostered in her breast for years. The final insult was   
the removal of her eye-- Sulnore had been awake during the entire   
process, thanks to Cath's skilled hand at torture. 

What made it worse was that none of her sisters or brothers, not her   
mother nor her oft-unseen father, would believe that Cath, sweet   
little innocent Cath, would ever harm the older sister she loved and   
admired so much. 

A hand landed on her shoulder, pulling her out of an anger induced   
haze. She looked up, surprised to find Helkaer's normally cajoling   
crimson eyes staring at her worriedly, "Sully?"

She hated that insipid nickname, that Helkaer had insisted on using   
when he felt like _really_ bugging her. Or when he was very worried   
about her mental health.

"What do you want, Helkaer?"

He carefully lifted her clenched fists, hoping she wouldn't lash out,   
and flatted her hands out, showing the four little half-moons that   
decorated her palms from where she had been digging her fingers in.   
She looked at them, startled, watching the blood well up in the cuts.   
Then she looked up again, and the amusement and laughter was back in   
his eyes, hiding what concern and worry there had been in them.

"Better watch out there; Wouldn't want you passing out due to   
blood-loss, now would we?"

Her eyebrow twitched. Her staff was still in hand from her previous   
threat.

Her staff said hello to the top of his skull.

---

End Chapter

I love how this ends. The chapter's all dark and sad and stuff, but   
the end rocks. Sulnore whacking Helkaer upside the head with her bo.   
Hmmm, wonder if Harry's going to fix it from when Helkaer cracked   
it...?  



	56. Preparations

FF.net is being a pain in the ass and screwing up my formatting.   
*sighs heavily* Hopefully I can figure out a way to fix it.

Arizosa - Well, people keep telling me...

CastusAlbusCor - Complications are fun. You know not complications   
until you've heard Leigh ramble on about the Identity Series. It's   
hard to keep the relationships between so many characters straight.   
X.X

wicchick - I'm glad I'm writing again, myself. The writer's block is   
annoying, but at least it hasn't snagged me yet and killed me. And   
muse!Remus has been giving me ideas for dealing with Sulnore and   
Helkaer ^__^

fantasydima - Mrph, the next chapta is here.

Scamber Dragon - w00t! One of my regulars! *bounces* Hiiiiii! I'm   
hyper ^__^ *snickers* Sev's lovely little trip to America is coming.   
Slowly, but it is indeed coming. 

lkoKennen - And another regular! Ah, I missed you guys. Three great   
chapters, now! (in my opinnion, at least :P)

Adrielle*Silverleaf - Bingo! Hanging out with crazy people gives me   
good ideas! Exclaimation marks are fun when you're hyper ^__^ Hey,   
death threats are cool. I haven't had one of those in awhile. *eyes   
shine*

Black Rose - Heyya! Been awhile ^__^. I love my Drows, too. They're so   
cool... Yeap, Sev will be sent your way, and he can magick-away the   
Writer's Block for you ^__^

Potter ain't mine. He's Rowling's.

---

Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Fifty-six - Preparations  
The Itch  
---

The Potions Professor was not in a good mood.

Grumbling under his breath about pushy annoying Weasleys, he dropped   
the last ingredient into the potion, and stirred counter-clockwise   
exactly three and one quarter turns. Then he settled back, watching   
the concoction boil. It would take almost twenty more minutes to   
clear, and then after that he'd have to drop something of Draco's into   
the potion. Normally, one would use a hair or a fingernail or some   
such item to focus the potion upon them.

Severus Snape was going to be using a hand-full of the iridescent   
silver-white scales that had been taken off Bladewhip's cheek in a   
rather brutal match against Katar some days earlier, within the   
Training Center.

Katar... the mysterious redhead was a puzzle to be solved. The man had   
been under Cornelius Fudge's thumb for over a decade, forced to do   
whatever the man wished of him. Severus had first seen the imposing   
mountain of a man when he had been standing guard over Fudge at a   
trial of some of the Deatheaters, following Voldemort's defeat. Katar   
had been new to the Wizarding World, then, but no one knew that this   
man had once been a muggle.

It was hard to tell, considering anyone who even attempted to cast a   
spell on him to see if he was Pure-blood or Muggle-born, would only   
get feedback that would knock them out for days. Fudge thought to use   
Katar's strange immunity to many spells-- although hardly _all_   
spells-- as a shield. But Katar would never act without Fudge's direct   
command. He would stand blankly and still like a statue until his   
'master' demanded that he would do something. 

As such, Fudge had taken to giving Katar the command to protect the   
Minister of Magic from danger every couple hours. 

But the redhead was not the man he had been back then. Instead of the   
blank, hazy crimson eyes that never seemed to see anyone, and yet   
caught ever movement within his range of vision, there was an intense   
intelligence lurking in shadows of suffering. Katar had been used, but   
how far it had gone, no one was quite sure. Had Katar merely been a   
bodyguard... or had he been forced, while under the control of his   
'master', to do more? It was not especially something Snape wanted to   
consider.

No, not at all. 

The large man's shaggy mane of blood-colored locks made him look wild,   
the dark look in his eyes, dangerous, and the solemn cast to his face,   
brooding. He could spring at any given moment, his stances always   
loose and relaxed, muscles prepared for movement. His pyrokinetics   
were always something of a shock, especially given the amount of   
control he had over his manifestation of the Power. He had been   
controlled for years by a fool who might not be a fool, and yet had   
managed to gain full control over his abilities.

Not even Potter had full control of his own link to the Power, and he   
hadn't been controlled for longer than a couple hours at a time. Draco   
still had much to learn about his own plasma/energy manipulation, even   
with Hak-- yes, Severus knew of the presence of the 'voice' of the   
Power that was also badgering the young Malfoy. It was rather hard not   
to, when Draco started bitching at the bodiless voice in the middle of   
the halls.

Virginia had a fair amount of control herself, but no where near   
Katar's abilities. How had he done it?

Shaking the thoughts from his head, Snape returned to his potion,   
frowning as he watched the cloudy, brilliant blue liquid slowly begin   
to clear. Soon the potion would be ready to accept Draco's scales, and   
he could get that ever-annoying female Weasley to stop breathing down   
his neck, and get back to his normal sulking and griping.

---

Again and again, over and over, came the resounding clacks. Metal   
jangled with the noise, and the soft padding of footsteps was almost   
drowned out.

Hermione had taken the flail from her belt and switched it over into   
staff-shape to use as a walking stick. Every time the staff hit the   
ground, the chain that connected the two halves of the staff would   
jangle within. She really had to wonder how it was doing that-- the   
hole where the chain would slide in and out hadn't seemed that wide   
when she screwed the pieces together.

Oh well, it was likely one of those annoying things that just sorta...   
happened. Every six or seven feet she would stop and mark the wall on   
her left, focused on finding her way out of the maze now that the   
walls were no longer moving. Still, she got the feeling that   
_something_ was going to go wrong.

The Enchantress _really_ wished she was able to connect mentally to   
Weapon and Harry. Despite the relatively short period of time that it   
had been since she'd set up that link, she had gotten rather used to   
it, and missed it dearly. 

Besides, she was damned lonely.

---

The trio came to a halt as they reached the outer-gates to the palace   
at the center of Agarwaen. Sulnore raised a slender eyebrow, and   
Helkaer smirked at what appeared to be the city's entire army,   
gathered in the front courtyard. Apparently, the whispered words of  
Weapon's attack had reached them, and all had gathered to hold back   
the group of three.

After all, only one female and two worthless males? There was no   
chance that that tiny group would ever make it past Agarwaen's finest.

Harry's emerald eyes all but glowed in the darkness as he grinned   
widely at those that were attempting to hold him back from his current  
goal. The Drow had obviously never heard of Harry James Potter before.   
What the boy wanted, he got. There had yet to be someone who stopped   
him from doing whatever he pleased-- even the late Albus Dumbledore   
had never truly tried to stop him from doing what he wanted.

The old wizard's memories, tucked away and curling in some obscure   
corner in the back of his mind, told him that quite clearly. 

They also spoke of spells that could be used, quite effectively, to   
tear through an entire army. Spells that Harry felt could be...   
modified with the Power to be even stronger. Perhaps even... more   
destructive. Destruction was good-- especially when his goal was the   
destruction of the old ways of the Wizarding World, destruction of the   
Dark Lord, destruction of the barriers between magic and technology,   
muggle and wizard. 

Sulnore tapped her bo against the ground, uncaring of the flecks and   
pieces that fell away from the cracks in the end from both Helkaer's   
hand and skull. She'd just pick up a new one from a fallen foe. It was   
that simple. The Warrior-Princess was licking her lips in anticipation   
of battle. Being a border-guard meant one got used to battle, taking   
on the creatures that lived under the earth and would quite possibly   
ravage the city if the guards weren't there. The best of the   
border-guards were those who flourished during battle. Sulnore thrived   
on it.

Her Drow companion uncrossed his arms, golden hand glinting with his   
movements. He, too, bore a grin, and although he was skilled in   
battle-- one had to be when hunting through the tunnels where the   
fauna was just as likely to eat you as you were to eat it-- he did not  
thrive, nor even care for bloodshed. But he was prepared to cause it,   
even when calculating just how much it was going to cost him to have   
to repair or even replace his clothing once he had finished this   
little endeavor.

Glowing emerald pupils flared slightly, Harry forcefully making his   
point to his chilling other half that he wished to battle this time.   
Unlike the emotionless Weapon, Harry let a husking laugh, ringing with   
madness cross his lips. It was always fun to throw your enemies off   
balance, and as he looked up through long, tangled bangs, he knew he'd   
done just that. 

And his laugh got louder as he heard the command from the   
Commander-General of Agarwaen's army shrieked a battle cry.

---

End Chapter

Ah, a lovely place to cut it off, non? *smirks* 


	57. Bloodshed

Surprise! Four Chapters in a Row! w00t! That's unprescedented! I'm   
also trying to make up for the weeks and weeks I left everyone without   
chapters. 

Rogue1615 - Yeah, no kidding; a gun would have helped _so_ much.   
*snickers* Wonder what Ol' Riddle would have done if a Panzer came   
through his reign back in the 1940s when he killed his father...?   
Whoa, now that is a rockin' idea. I'll see if I can mingle it in, but   
it's probably one of those "when we get to the end of the story"   
things. Although it would open a _whole_ new world for sequels and   
spinoffs ^__^ Technomagic space travel....

mortal enemy of inanimate objects - Well, since you lvoe him so much,   
insane!Harry makes more appearances in this chapter :P Ah well, the   
amazing ability to to reviewers/critiquers into my personal   
slave/minnions praising my every word. Ah... it is a good life. ^___^   
Of course my cliffies come at the exicting points. It's have the   
reason I throw them in. But never fear! The next part is here!

Scamber Dragon - My talent came back, the very next day~ They thought   
she was a goner, but my talent came back, it just wouldn't stay away~!   
A flail is an instrument used in farming to beat down wheat, but it   
can also make a nasty weapon. Usually two long sticks or metal rods   
(depending on the area and era made), connected by a short chain.   
Kinda like oversized nunchaku, just with a smaller chain. Yeah, I am   
writing a book. Unfortunately I lost one of the major scenes somewhere   
on my harddrive. Dammit, I liked that scene. Lang meeting Katar...   
Lang finding... well, I'm not going to spill _that_ part, because it's   
a major plot point ^___^

hurdlingbaybe06 - Yeah, I suppose it could get pretty confusing, just   
because the scenes were so short... hopefully this chapter helps you   
make sense of things ^__^ Nate-baby is off finding Mister Weasley.   
He'll be back, don't you worry... and probably with a   
stunned/shocked/disbelieving Arthur in tow :P

Tasidia - Yeah! I hope I don't stop updating until I've made up for   
all my lack of chatpers! *poses proudly*

KoChanneo - It gets _better_ with each reading? Oh, oh wow... that's a   
huge compliment. Most things I read multiple times just get worse...

Bryt - I updated damn soon. Four chapters in four days. Wow. Well,   
maybe we'll be seeing Draco soon, but not likely. Black Rose still has   
majority control over him for the time being. That doesn't mean he   
won't be coming back-- he has to so they can find out how to kill a   
living weapon. (Remember Lily??) Ouuu, I like that threat upon my   
writer's block. Hear that, WB? Leave me alone!!

Hayley - *thumbs up* Here be the next chappie :)

Arizosa - *bows* I thank thee for thine praise. *grins widely* 

If Harry Potter was mine, he'd have so many piercings, he'd never be   
able to take an airplane _anywhere_.

---

Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Fifty-Seven - Bloodshed  
The Itch

---

He could feel it. 

It burned through his veins, pulsed painfully hot in his heart,   
rushing across all his senses. He'd never felt anything quite like   
this-- how could his other half possibly stay calm and cool with the   
Power blazing through mind and body, pulsing and thrumming and   
_begging_ for action, for bloodshed, for war...?

Emerald eyes saw nothing but attackers, weapons, death and   
destruction as he launched himself into the fools that dared to   
oppose the reign of the queen he so thoughtfully brought to them.   
Surely they would appreciate a warrior over a narcissist; and yet   
they wished to do battle. 

So he would oblige them. 

His hair, in the thick, dirty tangled mess that it always was,   
whipped around his head, shining glimpses of facial piercings caught   
only moments before a soul encompassing aura of sage ensnared the   
mind. Hands gripping knives from the gauntlets still bound around   
each wrist, as they had been for many months, flashed and danced,   
carving a trail of gore. Feet kicked out, bare of shoes torn from the   
previous change into Weapon, still with much strength behind ever   
blow. A litany of curses-- both of the magical and vocal type-- flew   
from his lips, ripping into his enemies, and dropping them like flies.

The Power was amplifying his natural stores of magic, and he reveled   
in the feeling. Reveled in knowing that his wand, strapped to his   
wrist beneath his right gauntlet, would fire off whatever spell his   
mouth would state. Reveled in the battle that surrounded him, as the   
armies of Drow crowded in upon themselves, trampling their company-  
mates beneath armored boots as they tried to be the one who was to   
take down the cyclone of death known as Harry James Potter.

A harsh, cackling laugh echoed through the Noble City of Agarwaen,   
and Sulnore's single crimson eye glowed with a fierce determination.   
She would not allow her birthright, her throne, her kingdom, her   
people, be taken away by Cath. For years had she allowed her younger   
sister to control what rightfully belonged to her, but no longer! The   
one-eyed Dark Elf flew into the thick of battle not unlike Potter   
before her. The Heir's bo-staff whirled about her body, skillful   
hands guiding it to knock the wind out of her once subjects, to knock  
them from unconsciousness, and from their footing.

Then the end of her staff, the end that Helkaer had almost shattered   
earlier in the day, cracked. It cracked, and cracked further, with   
every hammer blow she delivered with it, until the very end flew off   
and into the crowd, spinning wildly and taking out a number of   
fighters. Then she was jabbing with the splintered end, blood flowing   
as it scraped and damaged skin. And again she cackled, her war-cries   
echoing high above even those of the Drow warriors dueling against   
The Heir.

Blood flew from golden claws, Helkaer's quiet chuckle eerie to all   
those who fought against him. The Drow had drawn the saber he kept on   
hand for when dealing with the wild beasts of the caverns the dark   
elves lived with in. It rested comfortably in his flesh and bone   
hand, blood staining the blade as it bit into the flesh of women who   
would be his siblings, his aunts, his cousins... it mattered not.   
They fought The Heir. They fought the Living Weapon. And in his mind,   
that meant that their lives were forfeit. 

His artificial hand was all but drenched as it plunged into sides and   
chests of opponents, delicate fingers have curved into lethal claws   
upon the onset of the battle. His orange-crimson eyes burned brightly   
in the darkness as he felt Harry's Power wash over him; and he   
continued to fight. 

Viciously, the trio fought, and viciously their opponents reacted.   
Sulnore's skill only allowed her a small margin of difference.   
Helkaer's clawed hand was not something the women of the army had   
seen before, and that gave him a slight advantage. Without   
transforming, Harry did not have full access to the Power. 

Sulnore was the first to fall to the ground, and yet even as her   
opponents closed over her, she fought back, refusing to give up. The   
throne would be hers! It _belonged_ to _her_! CATH WOULD NOT KEEP HER   
KINGDOM!!

The Drow were not known for being mana-users. They existed on mana.   
Their all but eternal lifetimes were powered by mana. But no Drow had   
ever used that power like the wizards of the human world.

Wild magic, powered by mana, fueled by fury, poured from Sulnore,   
much as it did for any untrained human wizard. The dark elves that   
had been crowding her, trying to kill her, went flying. The ground   
trembled and rose, lifting Sulnore up upon a pedestal. Bloody and   
grinning, The Heir chuckled softly. It was no wonder that the Wizards   
and Witches they captured as slaves almost always committed suicide   
when the mana-inhibitors were wrapped around their necks and wrists.   
This power that flooded her... this mana... this ability to control   
something she had never before considered... it was truly awesome.

Her hand wrapped around her splintered bo-staff, and for a moment,   
she caught Potter's green gaze, and he mouth a word to her.   
Hesitantly, but without fear, she repeated the word he'd   
spoken, "...Reparo."

Gleefully, she, and those below her, those that began to fear that   
they had attacked the Goddess in mortal flesh, watched as the staff   
rebuilt itself. Cracks vanished and missing pieces were replaced; and   
a feral grin split the scarred features of The Heir. Howling with   
exhilaration, adrenaline pumping, she launched herself off the stone   
pedestal her wild magic had raised. She didn't even notice when the   
feeling of all-powerful magic faded away, leaving her as a mortal-  
being, although the connection, unfelt, would remain for the rest of   
her life. 

And those that had seen the single-eyed Drow all but become the   
Goddess, turned on their sisters, and began to fight for the woman   
who's throne was stolen by her own flesh and blood.

Helkaer noticed nothing of Sulnore's task, his back to her as he   
fought with determination. Teeth bared in a snarl, he could feel   
blood dripping down his neck, down his cheeks, and face, blurring his  
sight. Saber flashed out, separating another spinal column, claw-  
tipped hand tearing through someone's torso, then being removed. An   
almost feral state had descended upon him.

Then a hand was on his shoulder, and he whirled, almost decapitating   
whomever it was who had grabbed him-- but a sword blocked his saber.   
Cool lavender eyes-- unusual for Drow-- peered back into his own, and   
a dangerous smirk crossed the female's face, "Batter's up, Hellion." 

And she whirled, swinging her outlandish double-bladed sword around   
to crash into another Drow, husky voice rippling through the   
air, "Never thought I'd see the day," she laughed, back-to-back with   
Helkaer as they dueled with their opponents, "When a Dark Elf would   
ever become a Witch! Vilya, to your left!"

Another elf, this one with blind crimson eyes, rammed a sleek black   
sword through the chest of an elf on her right, using it for leverage   
to kick out against an incoming opponent on her left. The lavender   
eyed Drow licked her lips, grinning widely as she launched into   
battle, "Silly Cath thought she could control Vilya and I."

"Lady Scimitar bows to no one, eh?" Helkaer murmured, still in a   
lethal dance with his own opponents, although a number had turned to   
fight each other upon realizing that the Living Weapon, Scimitar, and   
her unseeing daughter, Vilya, were upon the side of the 'invaders'. 

"How true," mused the long-lived first generation Weapon. 

Across the courtyard of the palace, and almost upon the entrance of   
the palace proper, was Harry. Deep gashes and furrows lined his arms   
and chest, his face free of all but places that would bruise   
horrifically in the days to come. His bare feet were torn and bloody,   
but his eyes flashed with exuberant madness, basking in the Power   
that flowed through his body, healing cuts almost as soon as his   
enemies could inflict them. 

Let me fight... Weapon murmured in the back of his mind, again and   
again, Let me show them the reality of what a Living Weapon is.

Not yet, not yet, the sixteen year old would repeat in response,   
getting high off the Power. In time, my other, in time. He wanted to   
get in on the fun. He wanted to enjoy the battle while he could.   
Weapon would have his time when it came to Cath and Sulnore's mother.   
And Weapon's presence withdrew, and Harry gave a burst of maniacally   
laughter as he attacked once more. 

Battle and bloodshed continued, waging back and forth as Dark Elf   
fought Dark Elf. In the space of one battle, all those who had been   
discontent with Cath's rule over Agarwaen, turned to fight alongside   
the Living Weapons and Sulnore. And those who agreed with Cath's   
reign fought against siblings and relatives, blood being split on   
each side. 

All this because of the interference of a single mortal.

A single mortal who had just slammed one of his knives between the   
gigantic doors of the entrance of the palace. The screeching ring of   
the powers woven into the palace over the centuries brought all   
battle to a halt. Harry's cool emerald eyes flowed over them all. His   
grin was all teeth, twitching what he could grasp hold of with the   
Power, without the transformation, he lifted Sulnore and Helkaer into   
the air, high above the heads of both friend and foe, brining them to   
his sides. In the crowds, Scimitar lay her hand upon Vilya's shoulder   
and smiled darkly. Within the blink of an eye, both Living Weapon and   
her daughter had vanished into thin air. 

Harry didn't notice.

His voice rang out, "Lay down your arms. We have won."

Sulnore laughed joyously as reality dawned upon her. A bright smile,   
one that had not been seen upon the scarred visage for years, spread   
across her features. Helkaer rubbed his chin thoughtfully, crimson   
eyes wandering over the crowds. Then he, too, smiled, and proclaimed   
to all, "Before you stands her Majesty, Sulnore of the House of   
Mor'kuunemegil, Kaiserin of Agarwaen, and his lordship, Weapon of the   
Living Weapons!"

---

End Chapter

Yeah, I was kinda watching Buffy just before I wrote this chapter.   
Now that's one fucked up way to end a series. 

I know it has been said that Living Weapons don't reproduce. So how   
did Scimitar end up with a daughter? That's quite easy. Vilya was   
born prior to Scimitar's Naming.


	58. Cath

Five! Five Chapters in Five Days! I am slowly working my way through   
the tons of chapters that I failed to grant upon all you awesome   
peoples over the past couple months.

CastusAlbusCor - Well, I seem to be in an update-every-day kick right   
now... let's hoep I don't burn out, so I can keep things complicated   
^__^

Lady Darkmon - Twitching, you say? That's a new one; welcome to the   
ranks of those who worship me, for no other reason than writing. I   
still don't understand why people worship me, but hey! Do what you   
want. *grins* At least you worked your way through it the sane way;   
I've had some nameless people read it all in one night, forgoing sleep   
^.^;;

Black Rose - Scimitar may or may not show up in the future... although   
with the way she can pop up and go anywhere, she (and the ever-blind   
Vilya), could quite possibly make it into AAW, if you need ideas. And   
Sev is this close (holds forefinger and thumb a centimeter apart* to   
being in America. 

A-Potter-Person - Isn't it just wonderful? ^__^

Bryt - *hugs back* Now it's five chapters! Vilya isn't a Weapon-- she   
was born just before Scimitar became a Weapon (Scimitar is a First   
Generation Weapon, not second like the guys from Hogwarts), but since   
her mother was pregnant with her when she began to train int he ways   
of the Weapon, Vilya has a small attachment to the Power. All it gives   
her is a 'sixth and seventh sense' so that she can sense where people   
and object are, as well as when she's in danger. She was born blind.

Scamber Dragon - I didn't watch Buffy all that much following the   
second season; but I'd rather know what the hell Leigh is babbling   
about than to be staring blankly at her-- she's an obsessive Buffy   
Fan.

KoChanneo - Would you like a straight-jacket? Anyway, here's more ^__^

Arizosa - *blown back by the shout* I must be _really_ awesome to get   
that loud of a shout! *grins stupidly*

I don't own Harry Potter. I don't even own a copy of any of the   
books-- although Leigh's brother does own a copy, he doesn't own Harry   
Potter, either. That must mean Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.

---

Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Fifty-Eight - Cath  
The Itch

---

"Well?"

Severus Snape ignored the irrate voice of his once-student with the   
ease that came with being a teacher for many years. Virginia   
Weasley's eyebrow twitched with annoyance, as she watched the dark   
haired, dark eyed man gaze into the crystal clear liquid. The way he  
was hunched over it, she couldn't see anything.

Finally, the man leaned back, allowing her to view the scene playing   
by in the liquid. Draco, in his human form, stood alongside an   
unknown, graceful female. Before the pair was another female, this   
one with a ring of tattooed black roses decorating her forehead. This   
seated female was busily working upon a computer, not unlike the   
Ravenclaw that Ginny had set the task of hacking and cracking upon. 

It only took a moment, but Draco's cool eyes shifted slightly,   
glancing in the direction of the scriers, apparently having been   
notified their view through either Hak or the Power. Then his eyes   
shifted back to the monitor in front of the girl that was split into   
twelve equal screens. It took another few minutes before the teenager   
standing alongside him to turn her own gaze towards them, confused. 

The scrying potion did nothing to translate sound across the   
distances, so neither professed nor Living Weapon heard what Draco   
had said to the girl to get her to stop staring in the spell's   
direction. All they knew was that his lips had moved, and then she   
had returned her attention to the computers and the other girl. 

Snape dropped a shard of quartz into the potion, negating it's   
effects, and canceling the magic flowing in it. Narrowed black eyes  
turned to face the redhead beside him, "If you'll excuse me," and he   
stood, brushing off his robes. He was almost out the door when Gunn's   
voice caught him.

"Snape. Go bring It home."

The redhead pushed past him on her way to a session with Katar.

---

Whispers rose in the crowds before them, following Helkaer's   
statements. A Living Weapon? A _male_ Living Weapon? Let alone an   
_edan_! What was the world coming to? This was just... just simply   
impossible! But... believable with the way that he had fought.   
Believable considering that the Drow Weapon, Scimitar had fought   
alongside him and his chosen. 

Those who stood with Cath and her reign were outraged; how dare this   
Weapon fight against their queen! It just didn't make any sense!

Sulnore's eye slitted as she overheard a number of the whispers   
reaching her long ears. She cared not for the words about Harry, nor   
for those of Helkaer and Cath. It was those who _dared_ to demean all   
that she had been through these long years that infuriated her. Ire   
rose in her breast, her magic went with it. Control was learned, and   
she'd only found out about her own mana stores less than an hour   
before. 

Harry's hand clamped down on her shoulders, "Let's go, Sulnore," her   
eye turned to meet his glowing orbs, a devious smile on the insane   
one's lips, "I promised you a throne before the day ended, remember?"

Her lips curved into a smile, "Yes. That you did..."

"Helkaer," he glanced at the golden-handed Drow, "Stay here, guard   
the doors with those loyal to Sulnore. C'mon, Princess, we've got a   
kingdom to liberate."

She chuckled softly, stepping past him to throw open the disgustingly   
opulent doors. Yes, the Reigning House should be surrounded by beauty   
and wealth... but to the exclusion of their peoples' welfare? Again   
anger flooded her chest, and this time Potter did not halt the build   
up. Just before her gauntleted hands touched the jewel encrusted   
oaken doors, they were blown from their hinges by the magic that   
flowed through the Drow Princess' body. For a moment she gasped in   
rapture as she felt the power to do what she wanted ripple through   
her, but the moment was quickly thrown off. She had much to do. 

Proud steps, timed with the soft thuds of her bo-staff hitting the  
marble floors, marked her passage. Although the Living Weapon   
followed her in, he made no sound, and thus was easily ignorable. She   
was going to do this on her own. While the back-up was appreciated,   
it was unneeded. After all, she didn't need the edan to hold her hand   
for all those years of her life before and after her maiming, and she   
most assuredly did not need him to coddle her now that she was to   
face her destiny.

She _would_ have her throne returned to her.

The halls, though opulent, and decorated with paints and golden   
statues of all shapes and sizes, were bare of life. They were cold,   
dark and empty, giving The Heir the feeling of moving through a   
graveyard. The silence did not help the imagery any.

So it was expected that the throne room have that same detached   
feeling of wealth to it as the proclaimed Kaiserin slammed the doors   
off their hinges with another burst of her wild magic. Across the   
expanse of the white marble and black onyx floor stood the golden   
throne of the reigning Kaiserin, with an all to familiar figure   
draped over it, an edan slave cowering in the shadows. 

Her silver-white hair was meticulously groomed, woven into thousands   
of tiny braids and tied off with golden bands. Amongst the braids   
were ribbons of silk, a rainbow hue dancing among the gold that was   
the shade of the majority of the ribbons. Her blue-black flesh was   
highlighted by the pale, milky tones of her make-up, almost-pink eyes   
half-lidded as they watched Sulnore stride confidently down the   
length of the hall.

Slowly the other woman stood, her white and gold garments sliding   
smoothly down dark flesh to accent her curves. She wore only a white   
sarong around her hips, soft-silken sandals of gold tied with golden   
ribbons as high up as possible-- right up to the bend of hip and leg.   
Her breasts were bound by a thin strip of white fabric, and what   
appeared to be a solid gold corset. Her wrists and neck were   
decorated in golden jewelry, rings on every finger, and armlets   
hugging the flesh of her upper arms. 

White painted lips quirked into a sinister smile as Sulnore came to a   
halt before her.

"Cath," her sister's voice was harsh and rough, holding none of the   
culture that Cath could remember so well in her eldest sister's voice.

"My dearest older sister," purred the Younger Princess, "To what do I   
owe this pleasure?"

Sulnore's single eye darkened with fury, red edging upon brown, "You   
know damn well, Throne-Stealer."

"I stole nothing," the beautiful Drow laughed cynically, "A Queen   
must have both eyes to view her enemies and allies alike."

Sulnore bowed her head, shoulders shaking minutely. Deeper in the   
castle, windows began to shatter, one by one, slowly coming closer to   
the infuriated female standing just before the dias of the throne.   
Cath did not notice that her sibling's actions were not one of a   
defeated foe, but of a dangerous rival on the edge of madness.

"You lost before you even started this foolishness, my sister. Mother   
passed this morn. And in three hours time, I _will_ be Kaiserin, and   
there is no way _you_, my pathetic sibling, will ever be able to over   
throw me in that time!"

Cath had assumed one thing when she began her tirade. She had assumed   
that Sulnore had not changed over her years as a border-guard. She   
had assumed she was still dealing with the same, weak-willed female   
who hadn't even fought for her throne when she had been maimed. She   
had assumed that the woman before her could never change so much as   
to kill a sibling. Sulnore had never been that ruthless.

Keyword being _had_.

Sulnore threw her head back and laughed, loud and hard. Cath's   
startled features only brought about more laughter, "You are a fool,   
Cath. A dead, dead fool."

"Wha..."

Sulnore could never kill a sibling, let alone one that she had   
practically raised, such as Cath.

"Kill her."

That did not mean she was adverse to ordering her sister's death.

Harry's short bark of laughter rang out in the throne room, before   
dying a painful death as Weapon came into control of their shared   
body. The Living Weapon beat his bloody wings, mouth full of bared,   
gleaming fangs. Cath stood staring in shock, unprepared for a   
transformation she had only seen once before, and only as a young   
child. Even then, Scimitar had a much more human appearance than this   
beast.

Claws cracked the stone flooring as they gripped it only long enough   
to send him lunging for the dark skinned female. His silver eyes   
stared coolly into her frozen red, finger claws curved to tear out   
her throat as he flashed past her. Blood splattered from her torn   
neck, and he watched impassively as she hit the ground gurgling. His   
tail lashed back and forth, boney protrusions cracking the damaged   
floor only making it worse. 

He lifted one foot, resting it easily upon her chest-- "Goodbye,   
sweet Princess." -- and promptly skewered her through the heart on   
his claws. 

---

End Chapter

Ah, I do so enjoy cutting it off in such fun places. 


	59. Cutscenes

Burning Light - So how long did it take to read in one sitting? Gods   
know, some people have told me that they've spent an entire night   
just reading this beast. Personally, I don't recommend it but...   
*shrugs* Can't stop the massess. Heh, this thing just got out of   
control; it further along than my novel, even though I know what I'm   
going to do with The Living Weapon, and have since before I started   
goofing around with Blackened Sunrise. Lots of people seem to adore   
Nate, for some strange reason... wonder why... My madness is fun.   
Cthulu...? Hey! He owes me money! He bet me I couldn't write a   
psycho-fic! ¬_¬

wicchick - Gore is fun to write. Pain... ah, pain, I know thee well.   
Cath... well, she is kinda mortally wounded, although you'll likely   
have to wait until next chapter to find out anything about her end,   
Sulnore, Helkaer and Harry...

lkoKennan - Hermi is... not doing so well, but that's probably   
because she was taking lessons from Leigh in "How To Meet the   
Ground". (Don't ask, long story, and it'll probably make sense by   
the time you finish this chapter.) The super test from Echo-Lily.   
*nods* Oh yeah... and once they finish their 'tests', what do you   
think is going to happen? (My vote is on attempting to kill the   
unkillable echo...)

mortal enemy of inanimate objects - Hmm, Drow in Hogwarts. *smiles   
benevolently* Perhaps. 

ccs rox - Yeah, Draco rocks, and Harry's wicked-cool, Ginny's psycho   
and Sirius is a blast to write. Draco will... come back whenever he   
comes back. Sev's been sent to retrieve him, though. (The Adventures   
of Draco & Rosa are chronicled in Black Rose's Spin-Off"Blackened   
Sunrise: An American Weapon"-- link's in my profile)

Scamber Dragon - *salutes* Off to see the other characters! I was   
planning on it anyways, since nobody knows what's been going on with   
them for the past little while. Oops!

Lady Darkmoon - Ah, lengthy load times. Although I don't recommend   
spending all night reading BS, I suppose it's your decision to wait   
for a slow-loading site... Like I told ccs rox, Draco's over with   
Rosa in Black Rose's world. Why don't you go check it out? ^__^

Arizosa - *snickers* Glad you liked it. Dear Cath, we who knew you   
not, will... probably not miss you. *grins*

HP is JKR's. TLW is the Itch's. Get it? Got it? Good. Live with it. 

---

Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Fifty-Nine - Cutscenes  
The Itch

---

It was with a gasp, that Ron Weasley jerked out of his trance, eyed   
confused and blurry. Where...?

"You're in the Infirmary," came the dulcet tones of one Lavender   
Brown, of whom had taken over the medical wing following Madam   
Pomfrey's... unexpected leave of absence. Still confused, the second   
youngest Weasley blinked the tears and crust from his eyes to see her   
fretful visage staring down into his own, "Dean brought you here when   
you passed out in the Great Hall four hours ago. I couldn't find any   
physical reasons for you to ha--"

"It wasn't physical," the clairvoyant murmured, pulling himself up into a sitting position, "Although I wish it was. Good bloody Mer-- God, but I have a headache."

Lavender watched him curiously, "What do you mean?"

He sighed; his clairevoyency wasn't very well known-- Weapon and his  
sister had wanted an ace up their proverbial sleeves, so they'd   
tamped down on the information. Slowly, the redhead shook his head in   
the negative, "Sorry Lavender; this is one of those things that only   
the Weapons are supposed to know."

Besides, he'd rather _not_ freak her out with visions of war, death   
and mayhem. Visions of which his sister and his best friend were at   
the forefront of.

---

Remus Lupin rubbed a tired hand across equally as tired eyes as he   
finally made it into magical civilization. He'd been traveling for   
days, just trying to get back to Hogwarts and to throw deatheater and   
auror alike off his trail. Stumbling his way to the small village's   
local inn, he stifled a yawn; he had enough to pay for one night, and   
then he'd be off, moving once again towards Hogwarts.

So tired was he, that he missed the front page of the Daily Prophet   
that had laid upon his bed where a careless maid had dropped it. He   
missed the bold letters, screaming a question, alongside a picture of   
Hogwarts, in what seemed to be a lock down.

'What Happened??'

---

Lucius Malfoy winced as his lord threw another priceless vase at the   
walls, watching the snake-like man rant and pace, pace and rant.   
Although peace had seemed non-existent before, once old Daemon Wolfos   
had died-- been killed, really-- the Deatheaters had soon learned the   
folly of that assumption. 

Tom Riddle was never happy anymore, not even during the midst of a   
Dark Revel, not even when plotting the down fall of Harry Potter.   
Malfoy's insane Master would jump from home to home, a different   
Deatheater's place of rest every night. And he would rant and rave   
and scream when he learned that his followers had yet to locate the   
one who had killed his best friend.

Best friend. Not a word Lucius had ever considered to be a label to   
go with the Dark Lord. 

Insane, yes. Best friend...? No. He had always assumed that the   
closest thing that Lord Voldemort had to a best friend was Nagini.   
Not so, as was apparent by the fact that his luney master was carting   
around a massive, pale-blue stuffed-snake. The toy-animal wasn't even   
enchanted to act like a real snake; it was just fabric and stuffing,   
the only charm upon it an ever-last charm. 

It had been a present from Daemon, which made it one of the few   
things Riddle had that he truly 'loved'-- as much as a creature the   
likes of the snake-man could love. 

Lucius settled back to watch the heirlooms from his wife's side of   
the family get shattered to itty-bitty little pieces by the enraged   
Tom Riddle, his stuffed snake Rilos wrapped around his neck.

Why had he gotten in with a lunatic again? Oh. Right. World   
Domination, and extermination of Muggles.

---

Determination. 

The one word to describe her with, at this particular moment, as she   
dodged to the left, ducking and rolling. The massive stone fist of   
the golem tore through the stone walls of the maze like it was toilet   
paper. 

Honestly, she'd never meant to wake the damned thing up-- she just   
wasn't used to walking with the golden staff in her hand, and an   
uneven patch in the flooring had tripped her. The golden bar had   
flown from her finger-tips, clattering down the hall and coming to a   
halt at the feet of the massive iron golem at the far end. Although   
iron was the anti-thesis to magic, that didn't stop the golem from   
bending the rules.

The staff had awoken it, and it lurched to it's feet, searching for a   
target. Hermione had froze, praying under her breath that it would   
ignore it. It had, and for that she had been grateful. Laying there   
for an hour, waiting desperately for it to go back to sleep, she had   
breathed a sigh of relief when it settled back down. Still, she had   
waited another half hour before hoping to her feet and making a grab   
for her staff.

Her fingers had barely curled around it's haft, when the golem first   
belted her, sending her skidding across the stone, crying out with   
pain, as back and side scraped the ground, leaving a trail of blood.   
She had impacted roughly, pain charging through her arm. She didn't   
know if it was dislocated or fractured, but the area up never her   
shoulder screamed like a bitch with every movement.

She used that arm to hold her staff close to her body, and attempted   
not to use it, just to avoid pain. Then she struggled to her feet,   
wincing as a biting sting burned in her knees and side. She had only   
just barely held back a scream as the golem came at her again, and   
she dodged out of the way. 

Hermione had been dodging attacks for nearly twenty-minutes now, eyes   
darting frantically in an attempt to find escape. The only exit was  
behind the golem, and the holes in the walls only lead to more   
passages. She'd rather not try to get more and more lost as time went   
on. 

Backed against a wall, the Enchantress did the only thing she could   
think of, to buy her time. She popped her staff into flail-mode, and  
began to whip it about with her good hand. It made a satisfying   
cracking noise every time a hit was landed, a metallic   
ringing 'thwack'.

It was actually very therapeutic, and apparently it was managing to   
hold the golem off long enough that she could search for the   
animating figure somewhere on it's body. The face and head was free   
of the symbols, as was the chest, and the back. That didn't mean   
anything, as while those were the major areas to place the charms,   
they were not, as most wizards and witches believed, the only place   
to put a charm.

There. A glint of gold upon the iron; the animating rune was made to  
appear as a tattoo on it's upper thigh. Her brown eyes narrowed   
sharply, "Let's see you move without that..." 

The flail moved from attacking the torso, to whipping across the   
golden runes. Oh gods above and below she hoped this worked.

---

End Chapter


	60. Yet Another

Holy shit, sixty chapters!

And I just dumped my celebratory Pringles all over the floor, because   
I am an idiot, and forgot that the lid was off...

CastusAlbusCor - Two days without sleep? Oi, that's a brilliant move.   
What kept you up?

Scamber Dragon - Yeah, quick updates so that I can repay everyone for   
the long time without chapters. Besides, the ideas are mad flowing   
right now. *snickers* Nate in Riddle's place, stealing Rilos... such   
an intriguing mental image. Maybe one of the Druids will dare him to   
do it.

KoChanneo - Sure I can.

Burning Light - Yeah well, I'm not normally this fast ^.^;; Cthulu is   
pretending to be the squid? Well, that's certainly one way of getting   
out of paying me my money. Yeah, depending on the RPG, iron has all   
sorts of different properties. I'm actually working with the idea Fire   
wrote into Destiny's Child (at least, I think it's Destiny's Child...)   
where iron repels magic, although if done right, can amplify it to   
extremes. Hehehehehehe, turning Tom into Drucilla now? How amusing.

Tasidia - Yeah, I know. Everyone's hinting that I should snag Draco   
again. I'll get there... eventually... after Black Rose plays with him   
for a bit longer.

Black Rose - You managed to post it twice. *shrugs* You get to bring   
Sev to you in any way you want to do it. Up to you and your   
creativeness. 

mortal enemy of inanimate objects - Yeah, I missed Tom, too. I tried   
to write him in earlier, but he just didn't want to cooperate.   
*grumbles* The first 50 in one shot? What is it with people and   
reading so much all at once? Wows...

Bryt - When Remus finds out what's going on, the shit will hit the   
fan. When the Wizarding World finds out... the Balance will be on the   
brink of creation or destruction. Should be fun.

Litine - It's apprentice, and can you just _imagine_ the look on his   
face? *snickers*

Arizosa - Tom with Rilos in hand, cackling madly, standing on a big   
tower ala X. Makes for a cute mental image, doesn't it?

Potter still doesn't belong to me.

---

Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Sixty - Yet Another  
The Itch

---

The common misconception with golems was that because they were made   
of stone and metal, they could fell no pain. On the contrary; hit one   
enough times on the exact same spot, and they will feel it-- it was a   
safety measure put in by the original creators of golems, so that   
their machinations could not be used against them. However, that   
knowledge has been lost for centuries-- millennia, even.

So Hermione had no idea that if she had just kept whacking the thing   
with her flail as she had been doing, three more hits would have   
rendered it into a pain-filled ball, unable to move due to agony. 

It didn't matter all that much, anyways, as the flail cracked across   
the enchanted insignia that gave the golem the capability of movement,   
and disrupted the mana powering it. It wasn't enough, and a second   
lash went out, this time scrapping away a line of the insignia and   
bringing the iron golem to an abrupt, staggering halt.

Breathing a sigh of relief, the Enchantress shakily got to her feet,   
whipping the sweat that came from both exertion and   
adrenaline-inducing terror away from her skin. The flail was snapped   
back into staff format, and she leaned heavily on it, stumbling away.   
Now that the danger was over, her legs felt like jelly, and she was   
completely incapable of standing under her own will-power. 

She gazed at the devastation created by the rampaging golem, and came   
to an abrupt halt, eyes widening. A smile crept across her face.

The exit.

Gleefully, she hobbled on numb legs over to the massive hole the golem   
had knocked in the stone walls, and gingerly maneuvered herself out of   
the maze of corridors that she had been locked in for far to long. 

There, on a small pedestal just before the door, were more of those   
strange black rocks that she had tucked into her pocket. A feeling   
stole over her, and upon deciding to comply with it, she stuffed those   
rocks into her pocket with the others. 

With brisk movements, she crossed the threshold of the door, from maze   
into freedom, and was blinded by a brilliant flare of white light as   
she did so.

---

Cath... gurgled. 

It was the only way to describe her attempts to speak while missing   
her throat, and having a sharp talon piercing her chest, right through   
the heart. She knew, distantly, as her blood flowed out of her and she   
died upon the cold stone of her own throne room, that the moment the   
beast that accompanied her sister removed his claws from her torso,   
she would die that much quicker.

Pleading crimson eyes turned to stare at the emotionless mask of her   
beloved older sister, the sister she had cheated from the throne, and   
she found herself without someone who cared. She was dying alone, even   
as these two-- these three, she corrected, eyes flickering to the edan   
slave still cowering in the shadows of her throne-- watched. 

She wondered if this was how her mother had felt, dying from the   
poisoned wine. 

Then the claws were removed from her heart, and she felt a spike of   
pain, before her bodily functions began to shut down, even faster than   
before. It was... not a pleasant situation. 

Sulnore stepped past the not-quite corpse, placing both hands upon the   
throne. In place of the normal masses that were there for the   
ceremonial 'Right to the Throne', there was only the slave, Weapon,   
and Harry in the back of the demonic angel's mind. 

Contemplative silver eyes turned to face the dying drow at his feet,   
and he pulled a simple silver ball from his pocket. Quietly, so as not   
to attract the Heir's attention, Weapon knelt, holding the sphere out.   
He tipped his head to one side and murmured, "Executioner needs a new   
soul."

The confused, hazy eyes of the dying female did not understand, and   
Weapon nodded. The silver ball glowed a faint crimson, and he dropped   
the ball into the wound he'd created with his bloody talons. The only   
sign that the silver ball had accepted a new soul into it's   
'collection', was the final shuddering breath of Cath. 

He pulled the orb from the wound, using Cath's once pristine white   
skirt to clean it off, and tucked it back into his pocket. Executioner   
felt all too warm against his thigh, and Harry smiled.

Sulnore finally finished going her way through the Right to the   
Throne, something she had done so many years before, then had to   
revoke when Cath stole her eye. Smiling, she sunk into the golden   
chair, and chuckled softly, "You did what you said you would, Weapon."

"So I did," Potter grinned, emerald eyes flashing with amused,   
predatory hunger, "So what do you plan to do now, Kaiserin?"

"Mmm, Kaiserin..." she rolled her shoulders, "I could get used to   
that. Now, Master Weapon--" there was only amusement in her voice as   
she used the title, "-- You have a choice. You can remain here as an   
assassin under my command, or you can return to where-ever it is you   
came from and never darken the roads of Agarwaen again."

"I prefer choice number three, actually," purred the Living Weapon,   
"Use Helkaer as a messenger between you and I, while I head back up to   
the Center of the Balance. You contact me when you want someone dead,   
I'll do it. I contact you if there's something I need a drow's...   
unique advise upon."

Sulnore frowned, "A compromise of the two options, then?"

"Yes. What do you say, Kaiserin? Care to be part of a World-Crossing   
Revolution? Care to join in the fight, to bring about the Balance?"

The single eyed dark elf tipped her head in thought, knitting her   
fingers together beneath her chin, elbows resting upon crossed knees,  
"And what, Master Weapon, is this 'Balance' you are prattling on   
about?"

Harry grinned widely, and began to gesture grandiosely as he began to   
paint a picture of the world controlled by the Balance.

---

End Chapter

Kinda a lame chapter, but, eh, oh well. Hermione's out of the maze...   
but is she out of the woods? Harry's completed his self-granted task   
of getting Sulnore onto the throne. Is he going to go after Elear, to   
teach the young drow a lesson? Is Sulnore going to agree to the   
Balance? How the hell does Harry plan on getting back to Hogwarts,   
anyways? 

Stick around, you may just find out.


	61. Destiny

Bleh, I would have made chapters for the past few days, but I've   
been... recovering, I suppose you could say. I woke up on Saturday to   
Leigh leaning over my bed and practically bellowing that I was going   
to make her late. She rather promptly dragged me off to Otafest.

XiaoBai - *grins* Yeah, stories with lots and lots of chapters can get   
realyl long,a nd really hard to read over time, but I'm glad you liked   
BS enough to read all of it ^__^

serena borialis - Yeah, Hermi needs more of a 'tude, but I'm working   
on it. The focus has now turned from Harry (since his completed his   
little war) to Hermi. I miss Draco too, but no worries; once AAW is   
finished he'll be back home in BS, and might just bring Angel with   
him. Or not. Haven't decided.

Scamber Dragon - Heh, that would be too funny, eh? Ah, now I just have   
to think of a way to work the dare in... And here's more, sorry about   
the lateness >. Perfection Unattainable - Interesting is a good word for it, hey?   
Disturbing works too. Whoo! I'm unique! *dances* Sorry, I'm somewhat   
hyper. Grad Retreat today.

wichick - Executioner is actually from a bout of role playing I did   
with some of friends of mine a few years back (Bunny-Mask and Rang, to   
be specific...), and for some reason I had to stick him in there. And   
yes, Executioner is a him-- he's usually in the form of a giant battle   
axe, but Harry's been carrying him around as a ball. His backstory   
will come in sooner or later.

Adrielle*Silverleaf - *snickers* Ah, Death threats. It is impossible   
to live without them-- and who would want to. Some people can get very   
interesting. ^__^ I'll have to try and beat my record over the course   
of the next couple weeks, since I got dragged out to Otafest and   
didn't get home until really, really late. Note to self, don't go   
partying right after Anime Conventions. Hang-overs and Leigh shouting   
in your ear do not mix. And Dray is over in America, and will be   
coming home as soon as Black Rose finishes her spin-off.

Wytil - AHHH!!! *whimpers* Noooo! The poor pringles!

CastusAlbusCor - I can understand heat. It's been super hot here, too,   
as of late. And I understand Grad. Grad stuff... the MANDATORY Grad   
stuff, I mean... can be a pain. Urk, mandatory retreat. Mandatory   
mass. I don't want to go listen to five hours of preeching! Sleeping   
in would be nice! Solar powered brain! The newest thing on the market!   
*laughs*

fantasydima - Well, you're finding out today, since it's Tuesday and   
look! a new chapter. I didn't write anything over the weekened   
though...

WolfMoon - ... Yes, and my reccomendations to read this in bits and   
pieces goes right out the window... *snickers* You people have no   
lives, you know that? Honestly, reading so much in one shot... any   
ways, here's chapter 61!

dragon - Insanity is fun.

LKoKennan - Kaiserin is the feminine form of the german/prussian title   
'Kaiser', which as you guessed, is the king, although it translates   
better into 'Emperor'. The fun things you learn. And History rocks; I   
love learning about it. 

brion - Black Rose has full control of Draco until she finishes her   
story. Then, Draco will be coming home, with all the experiences and   
memories of what happened in AAW.

ccs rox - I may or may not use Angel. Haven't decided.

theunexpecteddragon - Yeah, Lupin's going to be really messed, ne?

Burning Light - Yes, I've read Destiny's Child. It was a few years   
back, but it was rather good. *grins* Summoning Demons. How fun-- and   
I'm a fan of Ranma. No, that's wrong. I'm a fan of Nabiki ^__^. No, I   
haven't read Children of an Elder God-- isn't that one of the fics   
from the Bet? Or am I getting my wires crossed? Soul-stealing items   
are fun, and Executioner's back story will come about... eventually.   
You're probably right that it will take 25 chapters, though... 

Marie - Nope, Ginny has no idea.

Mister Potter is property of Madam JK Rowling.

---

Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Sixty-One - Destiny  
The Itch

---

Some things were truly pains in the ass.

Hermione came too with a tortured moan, blinking her eyes rapidly,   
and trying to clear the brilliant white from them. Light could be a   
very, very evil thing, she had learned. Grunting, the female pulled   
herself painstakingly into a seated position, and cupped her face in   
her hands-- and promptly froze.

What the hell...?

Finally, she blinked the light from her eyes, and the Enchantress got   
a good look at herself. She was damned sure she hadn't dressed in   
this outfit this morning-- or whenever it was she had been sent into  
the Maze From Hell. Damned bloody sure-- because she _knew_ she   
didn't own any clothing like this. She doubted _Harry_ owned anything   
like this, and the boy was known for his strange tastes in outfits.

Soft black gloves encased her hands, only the very tips of her   
fingers-- from about the knuckle to the tip of the nail-- were   
visible. Steel plates were bolted into the backs of her gloves,   
offering that extra bit of protection. The gloves were belted into   
place at wrist and at elbow, where the gloves came to an end. Her   
robes were gone, having been replaced with a black silk duster that   
fell smoothly over his body, and over the rest of her outfit.

Granger's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she found herself in a   
black leather corset; sure she had the body for it, but she most   
assuredly did not have the attitude needed to properly carry off a   
corset. A short silk skirt-- she was _very_ glad it wasn't leather--   
brushed her thighs, and the tops of the mid-thigh height black boots   
she wore. Thankfully the boots lacked any sort of heel, but they also   
apparently lacked any way to get them on or off. It was really rather   
surreal.

Her athame was slipped into a sheath upon her hip, and the golden   
weapon she had found in the maze was in flail form upon her back. 

Not to mention her frizzy, out of control brown hair had been pulled   
out of her face, and held back with what-- she reached up to check it-  
- felt like a bandana. What in the world was going on.

Very few have made it through the Maze, Young Mistress.

"What the... Bloody hell!" the sixteen year old yelped skittering   
backwards as a glowing ball of lavender flickered into being at the   
center of the... rather circular room she was in.

Do not be afraid, Young Mistress, another voice purred out, and a   
pink light fluttered past her face. She had the distinct impression   
that fingers had just traced her jaw line.

We are not here to harm, a green light peered cautiously out from a   
small crack in the wall. More and more lights began to fill the room,   
and Hermione found herself staring at something she'd read about--   
and had believed to be extinct.

True Faeries.

Young One, a regal voice cut through the reassuring whispers,   
apparently coming from a pure white ball of light, You have passed  
the test that is the Maze. It was designed to judge those who would   
lead us to our rebirth in the human lands. It was--

Oh stop lying Titania, grumbled another voice, this the only male   
voice in all the whispers and words, You're the Queen of the Seelie   
no more, remember? That Maze is our prison, Young Mistress. And by   
completing the weapon, by surviving, by leaving, you have set us free.

The male voice spoke with a confident air, as a crimson and orchid   
faerie floated up to her nose. Then the light that surrounded him,   
that flashed from wings and clothing faded away, and Hermione could  
see the tiny man's features. She lifted her hand and he landed   
lightly upon it, folding his elegantly patterned red and purple   
dragonfly-like wings against his back. 

His hair was brilliant, fiery red, and eyes of deep soulfully violet,   
his tunic white but with red and purple trim. He stared calmly into   
her eyes, despite the great difference in size.

This time when he spoke, it was with words, "While we can not leave   
our prison, we can still watch the going ons of the outside world. We   
have watched as those creatures that survived solely on mana faded   
and perished. We have watched the elves took leave of this land, and   
as the dragons became nothing more than beasts. We have watched the   
Enchantresses and Warlocks of old fade into the frail Witches and   
Wizards of today. We looked on as Man split into factions, between   
race, between country, between abilities... all this we have watched   
for long centuries."

"What does this have to do with me?" wondered the only current   
Enchantress. 

The faerie smiled faintly, "You, Young Mistress, have a special   
destiny before you. Your friend, the Living Weapon, is bringing back   
the old ways. He is reviving that which we had thought to be truly   
lost. He will recombine Man into one. He will change the Witches and   
Wizards back into their predecessors. He has already begun   
negotiations with the Mor'Quessir-- the Dark Elves of the UnSeelie   
Court-- and has brought about his subordinate's recreation of the   
Druids. Change has arrived, and you, Young Mistress will be in the   
thick of it."

"I... I don't understand..." the most knowledgeable sixteen year old   
at Hogwarts bit her lip. She hated it when she drew a blank on   
something so obviously as important as this. 

The faerie smiled benevolently, "I am Therius, Young Mistress. Any   
question you have, you have need but ask of me. I will be your guide   
through all you must know," he fluttered up to her head and settled   
himself upon the black bandana around her head, "And you, Young   
Mistress, will be the one to return the Court of the Seelie to   
Midgard-- to your realm."

---

End Chapter

Wow, a whole chapter of Hermione. Haven't had one of these in a   
while... if ever. I can't remember...


	62. LeaveTaking

Marie - Nate's off tracking down Mister Weasley (he'll come back soon   
though, for Scamber's dare ^__^) Ginny is doing Ginny-type things   
(ordering around the people at Hogwarts because she's pissed off that   
she can't find Harry or Hermione) and everyone else is not the focus   
at the moment.

ccs rox - New outfits are fun ^__^

Rogue1615 - I'm working it in. Slowly, and unnoticiably, but it will   
be there!

Burning Light - I don't think it's pathetic-- I like talking to my   
reviewers. Always been like that, I suppose. *shudders* Ugh, 'Happily   
Ever After' and 'Faeries who are nice and kind'-- They seem to have   
forgotten that the original Faeries kidnapped people to use asservants   
and slaves. I'm going to have some fun with my Faeries, because I   
_like_ the old legends. I'm Scottish by birth, and something about   
that just makes me want to learn about the stories my ancestors used   
to tell. Ah, spelling mistakes from typing at two in the morning. Not   
the best things in the world. I'll fix that up. And maybe start typing   
during the day. *shrugs* Well, I thought I saw Children of an Elder   
God on the Bet page. Yeah, I don't have a whole lot of time myself.   
Maybe when I get some I'll check it out. 

fantasydima - Hermi wasn't wearing the corset because she wanted to,   
but because I wanted her to. I met some really interesting ladies over   
the weekend who were wearing corsets and practically full bondage   
gear. And I thought Leigh was gothic. 

Bryt - Yeap, Faeries. Fun-fun-fun. Heheh, the Balance is beginning to   
take shape in the world itself... and poor, poor Remy-dear. He's going   
to be shocked out of his mind when he finally gets back.

Scamber Dragon - *snickers* Wow, couldn't tell you're happy. So,   
basically you're suggesting the Druids take over the Weapon's old   
hideout (and probably change the password...) and boredom strikes   
while they're awaiting... whatever. I'll have to think of that. Hmmm,   
it could work...

lostgirl - No, I think they might be stalkers. *looks around   
suspiciously* I know I saw someone aiming a telescope at my bedroom   
window... 

brion - Ah, Hermi's... situation... with the faeries will be explained   
soon enough. If Titania doesn't kill her first. *snickers*

WolfMoon - Ah, the joys of my medium length chapters. Not to long, but   
certainly not to short (I hope...)

Arizosa - Are you hyped up on sugar, or something? And you apparently   
think I'm god... wow, that's pretty cool. *grins stupidly* 

Um-hmm, in order for me to own Harry Potter, we'd have to be living in   
an alternate reality.

---

Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Sixty-Two - Leave-Taking  
The Itch

---

Hermione stared rather blankly at the glowing lights surrounding her,   
since it was a bit hard to stare incredulously at Therius, considering   
his was perched on her skull, "Wha... You can not be serious..."

"I am quite serious," the faerie returned coolly, "You completed the   
maze, as well as survived the golem to bring Oberon's staff here--   
that was the only key needed to unlock the doors of this prison."

She pulled the golden flail off her back, snapping it back into staff   
formation, "This... is a key...?"

"Quite," Therius murmured, while the mental whispers of the other   
Faeries fluttered through her mind, "With that, you can open the doors   
between the realm the Seelie were contained within."

Yes, the former queen, Titania's, voice cut through meaningless   
prattle by those she had once considered her subjects, before her   
imprisonment, it will free us, Young One. So open the doors!

Therius turned his cool orchid gaze to the bright white ball, "Doing   
as such would only damage the barriers between realms. We have no idea   
what could come through, Titania. Would you care to have Orcs in here,   
destroying our home, before we can escape to Man's world?" his tone   
specifically called the ex-queen an idiot, "Of course not. We'll open   
the doors slowly, only a few at a time."

Rubbing her forehead, Hermione decided she was going to look around   
instead of arguing with the Faeries. This was so surreal; she felt   
almost as though she had gotten trapped in the Legend of Zelda:   
Ocarina of Time. Oh the presents her parents gave her, with their   
rather... limited... knowledge of the magical arts.

She jumped, surprised, when Therius tugged on a lock of her hair,   
"Young Mistress," his voice was tired, "Titania and I have come to   
a... compromise," he did not sound happy with it, however.

"A compromise?" she wondered, thinking that it might had been smarter   
to have actually paid attention to the conversation going on around   
her. Therius' exasperated sigh seemed to indicate as such.

"Yes, a compromise, Young Mistress. Aside from myself, you will take   
four Faeries with you when you leave this place. Titania has demanded   
that she be one of those four."

She could understand Therius' position-- re-introducing the True   
Faerie to an environment they hadn't been a part of for centuries was  
risky business-- but she also understood Titania's wish to be out of   
her prison. Gods knew Hermione had felt the same when she was tromping   
through the Maze From Hell.

Shifting a bit uncomfortably-- it would take time to get used to the   
leather corset, but if she had her way, she'd be out of it as soon as   
she got back to Hogwarts-- Hermione pursed her lips, "Very well. The   
question is-- how do I get out of here?"

Therius smiled faintly, "That, my dear, is rater simple. You have   
Oberon's Staff in hand. Focus on the destination you wish to go to,   
and it will take you there. But! Do not do as such just yet. Titania,   
have you decided who will go?"

The queen snorted, I have known for a long time who would leave this   
prison with me, should only a small number of us be capable of   
escaping.

Therius muttered something about conceited bitches, who thought they   
were the center of the universe. Hermione and a couple of the closer  
Faeries snickered. 

Within minutes, Hermione had the balls of light-- for some reason,   
only Therius was visible to her eyes-- had landed on her shoulders,   
and were ready to leave. She lifted Oberon's Staff up, focusing on it   
as she once had focused her magic through her wand as a child. A deep   
magenta glow swirled up around her body, pulsing and beating. 

The Faeries that had not been going, but had been surrounding her,   
suddenly flew off, terrified. Oberon's magic was not something   
pleasant to be around when they didn't have to be. That is... all but   
one of the Faeries ran off. A ball of light, only half the size of the   
others darted out from behind a small pile of rocks where others of   
its size had been. Several voices hissed uncertainly, Velocity!   
Velocity, get back here!

No! I'm going to see the Real World! the tiny Faerie blustered back,   
directing it only to them, as they had directed it only to him.   
It wouldn't do to be discovered before he could get out. As his name   
foretold, the young Faerie was the fastest of any Faerie ever born.   
With a burst of speed that left only an after-image of a ball of   
turquoise light near the wall, Velocity shot across the room to the   
human who would save the Faerie. He slipped into one of the inner   
pockets of the duster, and made himself comfortable on the black   
stones within. 

I wonder, thought the youthful Faerie, why she's carrying around an   
incomplete set of Knowledge Shards? Perhaps... oh, that must be it!   
She must have been on a quest before getting stuck in the Maze-- a   
quest to find the rest of the shards and save some beautiful-- no,  
wait, she was a girl, wasn't she? So she wouldn't be saving a   
Princess... but she could be saving her world. 

Velocity vowed then and there to help her with her quest... whatever   
that may be. 

He never noticed the Knowledge Shards glowing with black light beneath   
him. Never felt the binding magic surround him as Oberon's powerful   
magery swept him up in a flash of blinding light-- not nearly so bad   
for him as he was in a jacket, as it was for his brother and sister   
Faeries-- and he felt the world shift. 

Hermione felt the drain on her magic, but didn't know she was carrying   
six, not five Faeries, and had no idea that she was putting out her   
own mana to equalize the amount used to relocate from one realm to   
another. 

As she did so, she couldn't help but overhear the conversations of   
what was formerly the most elite, and the highest ranked officers of   
Queen Titania's Seelie Court. They were all pompous bigots who refused   
to believe that the "World Out There" could have changed so much over   
the centuries. It hadn't changed drastically for ages, why would it   
have changed so much now? She didn't feel like telling them about   
technology. 

It would be more amusing to watch them get scared out of their minds   
when a car barreled down upon them.

---

End Chapter 


	63. Setting

Phoenix Flight - Hermi's tired and annoyed. Wouldn't you be? Having to   
run through a maze, fight a golem, then find yourself in som magical   
prison with a bunch of bickering Faeries...?

LKoKennan - Ancient Egyptian history is cool-- Leigh's a believer in   
Kemetic Orthodoxy (which is a chruch apparently dedicated to the   
revival of Anicent Egyptian beliefs...) so I hear lots about it. Yeah,   
all three are helping with the Balance; I dunno who Dray is helping--   
the americans, or Angel's followers.

wicchick - I practised wicca a few years back, until my parents found   
my Book of Shadows, and promptly raided my room for anything   
"unchristian".

Marie - Because Cliffies are fun ^__^ All Faeries are evil, actually.   
It's in the old legends. They're actually quite fun to write about.   
Gunn is female. Harry is... well, you'll find out ^__^ I have no idea   
when The Living Weapon will be finished, as I have to finish typing up   
the inbetween scenes (unsurprisingly, I have all the action scene   
completed), send it an editor, have it sent back, revise it, send it   
off again... and so on and so forth. I knew what I was getting into   
when I started writing-- my mother used to write short stories for   
kids, but it had to have been twenty, twenty-five years ago...

Bryt - Hmm, good question... I'll have to think about the full extents   
of the powers of Oberon's Staff.

ccs rox - Shakespeare did influence the names, but I believe he got   
them from local legends and such. *grins* It would be fun to throw   
Puck in, but the trickster has other things to do.

A-Potter-Person - *laughs uncontrollably*

Black Rose - Well, better late than never, ne? Yeah, Hermione rocks   
once you start making her into a person and not "the booky one". Hmm,   
I'm still debating on putting Angel in, but I should have (read: hope   
to have) a decision by tommarrow's chatper...

Arizosa - If I'm never going to get rid of you... *hauls out a Way of   
the Itch totebag full of junk* Here you go-- all the merchandise to go   
with Blackened Sunrise. From Hermi's athame to Harry's collar and   
chain! Have fun ^___^

Potter is not mine.

---

Blackened Sunrise  
Chapter Sixty-Three - Setting  
The Itch

---

She was roused from her slumber by a pair of tiny hands pulling at her   
eyelids. With an unlady-like snort, Hermione Granger batted at   
whatever it was that happened to be bothering her, only to receive a   
startled yelp, accompanied by an unfamiliar voice grumbling, Damn,   
almost hit me.

"Wha...?" she half-mumbled, blinking her eyes open, and recollecting   
the last bit that had happened before she lost consciousness. This was   
the second time-- perhaps it had something to do with Oberon's Staff? 

The Staff!

She jerked upright, frantically looking about herself for the five   
foot length of gold. There! Just a few feet away was the staff of the   
King of the Faerie. Thankful that it was near her, she reached out,   
drawing the staff to her before snapping it into flail format and   
slinging it across her back. 

--stening to me?! squawked an indignant voice, and the Enchantress   
returned her attention to the Faeries that she had liberated. A tiny   
turquoise light fluttered over to her shoulder, annoyed, No body ever   
listens to me! Why won't you listen?!

"I'm listening now," she consoled, although there was a hint of   
confusion in her voice. She didn't remember bringing across a   
turquoise light. There had been Therius, and the white Titania, a   
golden light, a deep violet light, and a hot pink light, but   
definitely no Turquoise. She lifted a hand, and the light landed in   
it, "And where did you come from?"

Gee, shouldn't that be obvious? the young Faerie snapped, You brought   
me here.

"I don't recall doing any such thing."

Er well... she didn't know how, but the light managed to look   
sheepish, I kinda hitched a ride... Name's Velocity. Therius is over   
there. 

And the light bobbed towards the shadows. Carefully, his ride stepped   
over to the corner of the alley-way and knelt. Beneath a piece of   
cardboard was the unconscious Therius. Apparently the transport didn't  
just knock out humans. Velocity fluttered up off her hand so she could   
pick up the red and orchid Faerie without hurting him; the turquoise   
light landing on her black bandana, "Where are the others?"

The young Faerie snorted, Please tell me that was a joke.

"No, it wasn't, Velocity," her voice held a glint of steel as  
irritation slipped into it, "Where are the other Faeries?"

Gone.

"Gone?"

Gone. We're Faeries; the only reason I stuck around is because I   
decided to help you in your quest, and Therius was unconscious.

"That's comforting," was her droll response.  
We're Faeries, did you really think we could be trusted? the little   
light sounded incredulous, Humans! Have you forgotten everything of   
the old ways?

"I would assume that to be true, as I have never heard any such   
thing," the knowledge-seeking Gryffindor returned coolly, "Now. Where   
are we?"

I've no idea, the Faerie returned, sounding far to proud of that fact,   
Therius might know. He's old enough to have been born in this world.   
I'm not.

"Therius is unconscious," she pointed out, running a finger beside the   
unconscious Faerie in her hands.

"Hermione?"

The Enchantress jumped, whirling to face the intruder, Therius held   
tightly against her chest for his protection. Velocity hugged her   
bandana for dear life, having thought Hermione was huge. This man took   
the cake.

She blinked up at the man with the greying hair before her, "Professor   
Lupin?"

---

He took the corner as face as he could, laughing gleefully as he felt   
his knee scrape the ground, but his protections saved him. He'd never   
thought that this could be so much _fun_!

Behind him, moving at an nearly equal rate of speed, but without the   
stunts his companion was preforming, Helkaer rolled his eyes. It   
figured the psychotic Living Weapon would be pulling off tricks like   
that. The Dark Elf knew they shouldn't have let Harry get his hands on   
their magically enhanced edan-mashin. 

But the Weapon had wanted something with speed, so Sulnore had   
directed some of her subjects to take the 'Master Weapon' and the   
'Messenger' into the caverns where they stored that which had been  
captured alongside edan slaves. 

Motorcycles were just one of many technological residents of the   
storage caverns-- and one of the few that had been altered magically   
to suit the needs of the Drow. The edan had some strange ideas on   
things to do, but the speed of the motorcycles was not something to be  
scoffed at.

So the pair had snagged a bike for each of them, and promptly took   
off. Harry _did_ have his own world to return to. But first he wanted   
to play. The green-eyed youth had expressively told his latest   
follower that when he felt the need to return to Hogwarts, he'd have   
the dark elf guide him out. 

For the time being, he was content to zoom around the caverns of the   
Dark Elves, narrowly missing death. 

Just another day in the life of Harry James Potter.

---

End Chapter

And Lupin begins to be worked into the story... 


	64. Back

Here it is, just past midnight, and I finally find the inspiration to finally continue this work of the bizarre.  
  
The Black Sun has risen once more over the skyline. Let's see how long these dark days will continue.  
  
Please don't make me say this is an AU, that was kind of a given when I wrote chapter one.  
  
HOLY SHIT!!! 1002 reviews?! Dearest gods, maybe I should have been reading these while I was on my writing haitus! Last time I checked, I believe I only had around eight hundred! Ouch!  
  
Okay, regulating this to the reviews on chapter 63... any reviews on any other chapters that have been submitted since the posting of chapter 63... I'm sorry, but I just can't answer all those reviews...  
  
Strategemini - You only knew it was coming out today because I posted it to the mailing list.  
  
Dyan - It's been updated.  
  
SSSRoaB - *gapes* That is one hell of a lot of "updates". Well, I'm glad you find my story so wonderful that you like it more than anything else you've read. You're right. You have no life. (Well... neither do I, come to think of it.)  
  
disturbeddarkangel - 17th time? Wow, that's a lot of reads.   
  
haunted dreams - Well, my writer's block from hell has finally ended, so here's the more yu wanted.  
  
Sil3ntdeath - *laughs* I didn't find it valley-girlish, so you should feel happy about that.  
  
Bukama - Well, I'm pleased that you find it brilliant. *laughs* Thanks for the congrats.  
  
BookCrazy - I got that description off the top of my head, actually.  
  
ChaneyStarr - I am continuing it, no need to worry about it. It seems that everyone is rereading it, actually... I am a plot bunny whore. Any plot bunny that I come across seems to just get thrown right in there.  
  
Exousia - All in one go? I congradulate you on making it through this beast with your sanity relatively intact. Hak is awesome, such a great guy. And no shions! Shions are bad! They are addictive! This story is addictive enough without the addition of shions!  
  
THE-PENGUIN2 - Oh, there are plans for Rilos. PLANS. And Rilos is in there because Rilos rocks. God, I love that snake. He sits on my bed all day long... (yes, I really do have a stuffed snake named Rilos ^__^)  
  
"..." - Writer's block. I honestly couldn't figure out how to start the chapter.  
  
Rayne - Wow, since day one? I congradulate you. A fair number of my readers have come and gone, but it's nice to know someone's been around since the beginning. Thankyou for the recommendations.  
  
fire0ice - *laughs* Draco is finally back! We shall begin the havoc!  
  
Cataclysmic - I guess the only reason I can imagine his earrings is because I've got tons of piercings myself, and far to many friends with the piercings I've described.  
  
CrimsonNoble - Yeah yeah, my spelling errors are evil. I really should find a spellchecker. Or at least go over the damn thing every once in awhile, ne? Foreigners, eh? Well, I'll get to that soon as possible. I'm sure I could import some japanese, or egyptians easy enough. And now this appears to be falling into the realm of "crossover".  
  
Riley - *coughs* Did you come back before this went up? I'm sure you did. Oops.  
  
Phedre no Delauney de Montreve - Yes, I got them from A Midsummer Night's Dream, although I have neither seen nor read the play itself.  
  
szelji, DruBlack666RANCIDROCKS, BC, Shiozaki, Leah, tnr, VB, Silver-blossom, Tami no Tsuki, Nordik, Cr1Ms0n^D3v1l, and everyone else, because I can't answer through any more reviews because I have class in fifteen minutes... THANK YOU FOR THE REVIEWS!!! I'm glad you all like the story, and I'm so happy that you jacked me up to 1002 reviews over the course of my writer's block and I LOVE YOU ALL!!!!  
  
(And don't worry-- I HAVE read them all! Thank you so much, guys! You're the reason I keep writing this monster!)  
  
The concept of Harry Potter and all other characters is that of JK Rowling.  
  
Therius and Velocity are mine.  
  
----  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
  
Chapter Sixty-Four: Back  
  
The Itch  
  
----  
  
It was good to be back, he decided with a slow smirk that sent shivers downt he spines of many who saw it. Oh yes, infinitely good to be back.  
  
Draco Malfoy had just spent the strangest while in America, with the Weapon Trainee known as Angel. The girl made a good figure head, and a good soldier given her fighting skills, but she was no Weapon. Not yet. Bladewhip, for one, found this amusing, although the ineffiable Professor Severus Snape had not been a happy man when he had been sent to retrieve the wayward Weapon.  
  
Apparently, neither Harry Potter nor Hermione Granger had been able to be located, so he had been the one to be tracked down by the always vengeful Virginia Weasley. He wondered if she was still rankled after that prank he had played only a short while before vanishing from Hogwarts, the idea that she could be widening his smirk into a smile.   
  
Ah well, the only way to find out would be to actually go to the girl, and quite frankly, all he wanted to do was sleep.  
  
He had not rested easily whilst in America, unable to trust any about him. Oh, he was a Weapon, and therefore ny invisible-- but he was not immortal, nor would he ever be, if his lessons were anything to go by. Time would tell how his life would turn out, although given the plans Harry and Weapon had been making, he had a good idea of what was to come.   
  
As it was, the once Slytherin Prince trudged towards his quarters, leaving Severus to do whatever it was that the Potions Master was to do now that he had accomplished his task. Draco didn't really care.  
  
A moment later, the dragon-childe collapsed face-first into his bed and drifted off into la-la-land.  
  
----  
  
Hermione sighed, trudging along after Remus, discretely tugging her leather corset back up, and wondering if attaching straps would be an easy thing to do.   
  
The werewolf padded along, quietly disquieted by his once pupil's appearance. How much had things changed that the bookish Hermione Granger could turn into... into a muggle biker chick? It was so hard to believe... but she had said she would explain. Once they were somewhere that she thought private. Once they were somewhere that the two Faeries she had with her-- Therius and Velocity, if he was recalling their names correctly-- could come out without repercussions.  
  
She hadn't wanted to speak with the professor in an alleyway, wary of those who might overhear, after having been 'snuck up' on by Lupin himself. And she had been playing with that ornate knife the entire time-- well, when she wasn't adjusting her clothing. She looked rather... uncomfortable in them. But if she was uncomfortable, why had she chosen to wear the outfit? So many things were not making all that much sense to him.  
  
"This is fine, Professor Lupin."  
  
"Remus or Moony, please, Lupin if you must" the older man smiled tiredly, "I haven't been a professor in two years."  
  
"Lupin, then," the Enchantress smiled tightly, "There is... much to discuss."  
  
"Like the outfit?"  
  
"Like the outfit," she agreed with a grimace, "I'm still trying to figure out how I got into it."  
  
"How you...? What do you mean by that, Hermione?"  
  
The young woman shrugged, pacing slightly as she tried to collect her thoughts, "When I was in the Faerie Realm, I was in my normal robes. When I escaped, using Oberon's Staff," she waved the golden bar before the professor's nose, before clasping it to her belt again, "I awoke wearing these. Therius and Velocity were the only Faeries to remain with me."  
  
Remus nodded slowly, trying to absorb this information-- the Faerie Realm? One could spend years there, and have only days pass on the outside, "How did you get to the Faerie Realm in the first place?" Maybe if they back tracked, he'd understand better? "And start at the beginning, else you'll confuse me."  
  
"Well, so begin with..." she smiled a bit strangely, eyes going distant, "Harry is... not exactly human, anymore."  
  
"WHAT?!"  
  
"Be calm," her tone was commanding and sharp, a thread of magic running through it that brought the panicking Moony to an abrupt halt, "Harry is what is known as a Living Weapon. Riddle, Malfoy, Sirius, and Virginia are Living Weapons as well."  
  
"And... what are these... Living Weapons?"  
  
"What does it sound like, Lupin?" her smile seemed slightly strained, "They are Weapons in and of themselves. Each with a special talent. Take Draco for example, he utilizes plasma with a finesse and ability only a pyrokinetic has-- and yet, before becoming a Weapon, he had no talent for it. Or Virginia, who can see the spirits all around us-- not just the dead humans, but dead everything, alongside the nature spirits, the nymphs and the dryads. If they are there,s he can see and communicate with them."  
  
"So... the 'Living Weapons' are just... people with overly strong Talent?" that was a bit understandable, although the name threw one off quite a bit.  
  
"Not quite," she shook her head, "There is more to it. There is the Power, there is the insanity that comes with it. There is life and death, and Names. To be a Weapon is to be everything... and nothing."  
  
"I... don't understand."  
  
"Most people don't," she tipped her head with a laugh, "I only understand it because I preformed a Mind Bond with Harry."  
  
"A Mind Bond!" the werewolf's eyes flew open in shock, and he gaped at the girl in wonder, "You cannot be _serious_! A Mind Bond is a dangerous spell-- and even an attempt can completely destroy the caster's mind. How could you be so foolish as to attempt one?!"  
  
"I did it to save Harry," she murmured, and as much as he hated to admit it, Remus understood that if he had been in her place, and Harry was in trouble, he would do the same thing. Had done, actually, when James had gotten himself into scrapes that he hadn't been likely to survive. So he knew where she was coming from, and all his shock and anger floodd out of him-- although the worry was still there.  
  
"What happened? Why would you have to use a Mind Bond on Harry?"  
  
She stared at him for several long moments, as though wondering if he would be prepared for the differences in both Potter and Black when he finally met up with them again. He had been gone for a very long time. Then Hermione's lips curled into a slight smile, and she lifted her hands in a tiny shrug, "Because if I hadn't, Wolfos would have been able to control him, and all of us would be dead."  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
How's that? First time in a long time, and I leave you with another cliffhanger. Heh.  
  
It's likely a little shorter than normal-- I don't have any of the other chapters on this computer, so I can't really compare them. Be that as it may, I feel this is a good start into getting back into the "groove" so to speak. I can write again, and damn, but that makes me happy. Estatic, even.  
  
-- The Itch 


	65. Changes

Goodday ladies and gentlemen.  
  
I apologize for the lack of updates.  
  
I've honestly been trying to get out of bed and write, but every time I think I'm well enough to do something... I'm not. It sucks.  
  
It feels like I've been fighting a monster case of the flu for the past few months day-in and day-out. I have been told, by many people, to go see a doctor.  
  
I'm starting to think I should. But, to be honest... I'm absolutely terrified of doctors. DON'T LAUGH!! It's a serious problem...   
  
The other part of why I didn't update was I couldn't remember my password ^_^;;  
  
Lets see if I can hack out a chapter that's up to all your standards. I'm starting to get back into the groove... I hope... and I think it's all due to... dun dun dun... VADER LOVE! *laughs* Blame it on a couple of 12 year olds and their fascination with Star Wars-- Leigh's recently gotten back into it, and all she does is babble on and on and on about Star Wars. I think it should be considered a narcotic...  
  
Anyways, thank you everyone for you comments and your queries into my health. You're all too kind. And I don't know how I got through over 100 comments praising me. It made my dizzy-- but in the good way, not the bad way, like the evil headache that had me on the verge of passing out today :P  
  
Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.  
  
---  
  
Blackened Sunrise  
  
Chapter 65 - Changes  
  
The Itch  
  
---  
  
It was with a smile that Hermione stepped out of the backroom, finally having managed to get out of that horrid get-up that she had been forced into. That was certainly not her idea of good clothing, and while what she was wearing was also not something she was used to, it was a great deal better. The "biker gear" that the Faeries had apparently dressed her in had been shed in favor of a white dress and loose black robe. The robe was belted around her waist with a sturdy leather belt, from which her athame hung, her staff slung across her back. She had kept the gloves that had come with the 'biker' outfit, for the sake of having something with which to protect her hands.  
  
"Feeling better?" Remus smiled at the girl, equally as thankful that she had gotten out of that getup. It hadn't been appropriate for a girl to wear, after all.  
  
"Much," Hermione stretched, her back popping and cracking something awful.   
  
"Can with continue with the... events that have occurred since the last time I was at Hogwarts?"  
  
"I've pretty much explained everything," her words were muffled slightly as she pulled her wild hair out of her face with a simple white ribbon, "At least, everything that I know. The Mind Bond I share with Harry is... silent, for some reason. I am worried that something could have happened to him."  
  
Remus shook his head, "You'd know if it was something terrible, Hermione. It would feel as though you were being ripped in half."  
  
"You sound like you're speaking from experience, Professor."  
  
"It's Remus, and yes, I am. I had such a bond with James... when he died, it was more than I could take. Especially given the time of month it was..." he shook his head, "But I digress, we're supposed to be discussing the present, not the past."  
  
"But to understand the present, we must understand the past," Hermione smiled pleasantly, "history goes in circles, after all."  
  
Remus nodded, then paused, frowning, "That brings an interesting question to light, Hermione... if history goes in circles, then... has the Balance come and gone before?"  
  
"It has," came the voice of the tiny Therius, "in it's wake, many were left dead. In it's wake, many were without family or home. In it's wake, the mystical slowly died out, and the... 'muggle', as you call it, grew."  
  
You'd know, Velocity snickered, you were there, you old goat.  
  
"Velocity, do shut up," the older Faerie grumbled. He had awoken during the original conversation between Lupin and Granger, but had not bothered to put in any input, given that he did not know any specifics about what they were speaking off. He had remained silent while the two searched for new clothing for Hermione, so this was the first time he had spoken in many hours.   
  
It was depressing to know that he was the only Faerie that had bothered to honor the agreement made when they were first imprisoned all those years ago. Had his people learned nothing?  
  
"What are you saying?" Hermione's face darkened, "that Harry's goal is for nothing? That we're headed towards... towards disaster?"  
  
"If you keep on the present course?" Therius stared at her, hard and unforgiving, "Yes. You will fail to create this 'perfect' world you're so hell-bent on forming. Nothing is perfect, that's not how we were made. You wish to take from the mortal and immortal alike their ability to choose? You wish to make them dependant upon your Balance? It will not work. In the end, it will fail, be it five or five thousand years from now. The devastation will be severe."  
  
The intelligent teenager could see the facts in the words he spoke, but she didn't want to believe it. She didn't want to believe that there could be something wrong with what Harry had planned... but then, hadn't Harry been the one to charge ahead? Hadn't he been the one to jump in head first, without bothering to see if the waters were deep or shallow?  
  
How could she have been so blinded as to not go over her friend's plans with a fine tooth comb?  
  
"Hermione," Remus set his hand on her shoulder, pulling her out of her thoughts, "don't blame yourself. Mind Bonds have a tendency to make you think like the person to whom you're bonded. That's why most Mind Bonded are married couples-- they already know how the other thinks and how to counteract it."  
  
"But... you weren't married to Mister Potter..."  
  
"No, I wasn't. Which is why I didn't understand half the things that came through our bond. If I had, I would have known Sirius was innocent, and he hadn't spent twelve years in Azkaban. Sometimes, you can be blinded by the Bond, and it's not a pleasant thing."  
  
So what do we do? Velocity wondered, fluttering from Remus' shoulder back to his favored position of Hermione's head, I don't think your friend is going to listen if you try to force him too.  
  
"No, he won't," Hermione smiled ruefully, "He doesn't like authority very much, although he has listened to it in the past."  
  
"Do we have any idea of how to even present the idea to your friend, Young Mistress?"   
  
Remus and Hermione stared at each other, wondering just that.  
  
---  
  
"Get up you lazy son of a bitch!"  
  
Bladewhip cracked an eye open, rolling over slightly to glare at whoever it was that was standing over him.   
  
Oh joy, it's Princess Weasley, Hak snickered.  
  
"What do you want?" the blonde managed to slur, glowering at the redhead who dared to interrupt his naptime. Virginia Weasley's eyes narrowed sharply, and she growled low in her throat-- a sound that one did not expect from the girl who's weapon form was a bird. Draco blinked a few times in surprise.  
  
"We've found Hermione," the second in command had finally reigned in her temper, "You're taking Blaise to find her and bring her back to Hogwarts, where we can figure out just what the bloody flying hell is going on in this bloody castle."  
  
"What, has something happened that your holiness can't figure out?"  
  
"Stuff it Malfoy," Gunn glared at him, before stomping out of his room, "Blaise can fill you in, but if you do find that you absolutely _must_ contact me, I'll be in the Infirmary with Ron."  
  
Still confused, the Living Weapon drew himself up out of his bed, and shuffled over to his closet to pull a new robe and under clothes from it. How delightful, he got to go track down the stupid Mudblood girl. He just got _back_ and now they wanted him to go out again? He wasn't some little puppy-dog that the redhead could order around whenever she wanted to!  
  
Still, he straightened his pale tunic, and the dragon-skin trousers that matched the robe thrown over top, before gliding out of his quarters. This had better not take to long, he grumbled acidically.  
  
It shouldn't, Hak sounded serious for once, there's something... new in the game, m'boy. I'm not exactly sure that this... is something that we really want to deal with right now.  
  
"Oh great, lovely even. What's wrong now, you stupid voice?"  
  
You called me stupid, so I'm not going to tell you!  
  
"Hak..."  
  
You can't hurt me, I'm the Power. I am EVERYTHING you neeeeeeeeeeeed~!  
  
"You've been hiding in Calaveras' mind again, haven't you?"  
  
Maaaaaaaybe, Hak may not have been able to grin, but he could certainly convey the emotion with his mental voice, Oh look, there's Zabini! Hi Zabini!  
  
"He can't hear you, you bloody stupid---"  
  
"Talking to yourself again, Draco?" Blaise looked amused.  
  
"No, I'm talk to Hak," Draco rubbed his forehead, "Ruddy stupid voice won't stop bothering me."  
  
"That's what they do," the other Slytherin laughed, clapping Bladewhip's shoulder with one gauntleted fist. Draco blinked as he realized that the youth he'd grown up with was not in his customary clothing. Instead, he was dressed in a black tunic with straight legged black pants. Over the tunic he wore finely crafted black chest piece and shoulder guards, "So, Gunn tell you what we're going to be doing?"  
  
"Retrieving the Mudblood. I feel like a dog."  
  
"I could always call you a dog if you wan-- ow! Watch it, Malfoy. I'm no Weapon like you are!"  
  
"Yeah, well, get used to it."  
  
---  
  
End Chapter  
  
Yay. 


	66. Therius

Yes, look! Chapter 66! I must be giving people orgasms by updating within a week of each other!

And no, I still haven't gone to the doctor. But I think I gave Leigh the flu. That's what she gets for hanging around me, bwahahahaha!

So... yeah... on with the story...

Therius & Velocity The Itch's Property

Harry Potter JK Rowling's Property

* * *

**Blackened Sunrise**  
_Chapter 66 - Therius_  
The Itch

* * *

The pair continued to ponder in silence as they began the long trek towards Hogwarts. It would have been much simpler to take the Knight Bus, or any other form of magical transportation, but they needed the time to come up with a way of presenting the facts to Harry and Weapon that would NOT get them killed. Not only did they have to explain to him that the method of going about the Balance would result in more casualties than anyone really wanted too, but the try and draw out who's idea the Balance had been in the first place.

Remus has a sinking feeling that it was Wolfos. The man who had once been his instructor had been a master manipulator, managing more than once to convince a student that one of his ideas had been his own. Even after death Daemon Wolfos appeared had have kept his final student under his sway-- something that disturbed both Lupin and Granger, although for different reasons.

For Lupin, it was fear for the boy he considered to be somewhat of an adopted son. For Granger it was the fact that she hadn't been able to sense this despite the bond that she shared with Harry.

But for the time being, such thoughts were to be diverted, and the wealth of knowledge that was Therius had been persuaded to speak to them of what the Balance had been like-- both times he had lived through it.

"I was born into a time of Balance," Therius had begun, voice soft but carrying a ring of authority to it, "It was the Balance as it was supposed to be-- all creatures at peace with one another, although there were petty squabbles, they were frequently solved before it came down to blows. The king and queen of that era were kind and just-- caring for all that lived under their reign. But their son was not quite as pleasant as they were, and began to spread rumors and lies. Soon enough man went against myth, and they battled until man was driven into hiding. This was the era into which the Seelie and UnSeelie ruled the lands. I was still young when all this occurred, barely two hundred."

I'm four hundred, Velocity piped in cheerfully, I'm older than you were!

"Velocity..." the warning in Therius' voice was sharp, and the younger faerie shut up, "As I was saying, I was young. I didn't know very much about the world, or about the way it worked. I trained myself in the way that I had been trained during the Balance, only to find that my powers and ability out did anything the new regime could produce.

"As it turned out, I had tapped into the Power that the Living Weapons use. We didn't call it the Power, however. It was the Ocean of Life, the All-Giver, to us-- and I was her avatar. I was both loved and hated-- loved by the nobility for they controlled my actions, and hated by the poor for I damned them to eternal suffering," he looked pained, staring off into space, "For nearly a thousand years we lived like that, until another rose up with the All-Giver's favor. This time, however, it was a drow-child, born of peasants. She rose up against us, against the kingdom that had been built on the backs of the oppressed-- she was angry, and touched a dark part of the All-Giver that I had never seen before."

"There is... more than one part of the Power?" Hermione blinked in surprise, turning to look at the tiny man who perched on Remus' shoulder.

"There is," Therius nodded, allowing that to sink in for a moment, "There are five parts that I know of-- Light, Dark, Earth, Water and Spirit."

"What about fire and wind?"

"Fire falls under the control of the Dark and wind under the control of the Light," Therius shrugged, "I never did find out why. But, I digress. You wanted to hear about the Balance. When Vorpal-- that was the name the drow-child took when she became avatar-- rose up, she was using Dark and Spirit almost exclusively, where as I was versed in the control of Water and Earth. She beat me, a most unpleasant shock, I assure you. But... she refrained from killing me. Vorpal was insistent that I learn her way of doing things, and given the traditions of the time, I had no choice. See, at that time, if one were to be beaten in combat, the victor could do whatever they wanted with them-- be it death, life, or eternal servitude. Vorpal decided on servitude and stripped my names and titles from me.

"It was unbearable for the first few years, being at her beck and call, unable to do anything, due to the chains the All-Giver had used to bind us together at Vorpal's command. I was her toy, her pet, her slave, her servant, and eventually her general. I stood at her side the day she toppled my former kingdom, the day she proclaimed all to be free. That was the day she decided to return the Balance."

"So, this was a good thing, right?" wondered the younger Gryffindor, considering the warmth that had been in Therius' voice when he discussed the first Balance he had lived in.

"No," the faerie shook his head, "No, it was not. You see, Vorpal had decided to revive the Balance, but her own soul wasn't in balance, and I was not strong enough to balance her out-- over the years I had become swathed in her way of using the All-Giver's gift, unable to reach out to even touch what would make the Balance true. Vorpal attempted to reign in the Balance, and control it-- she went so far as to bring Man back into a world of myth. But the humans were treated as cruelly as she had been as a child, because Vorpal was too steeped in her Darkness, that her Spirit was fading away.

"I was lucky enough to be on errand on the other side of the planet when Man rose up and toppled the broken Balance, seeing it for what it was. I felt Vorpal's death in that the chains I had forgotten I wore had fallen away. It sent me into a form of shock-- by the time I recovered, Titania and Oberon had taken control of their kingdoms again, and ruled as they had before. But now man was there, and they were eventually driven out.

"After that, things moved quickly, and I find myself wandering the planet attempting to see what damage had been wrought by my former Mistress' insanity. It was... devastating. So much had been destroyed under her rule, until the old ways and ideas had become little more than myth or legend, that no one believed. I was forced to return to my homeland-- and that was when we were sealed away, Young Mistress," Therius tipped his head to the girl who had freed him, "My connection to the All-Giver faded away over those long years; the bond between it and I is very brittle, and with the current rocks splashing into the Ocean of Life, it is very hard to hold myself up. The All-Giver wants for me to use my powers again, but I swore never to use them after Vorpal's death. I do not wish to become a part of that destruction ever again."

Remus nodded in understanding, "This is why you came with us, isn't it? You want to make sure what happened with Vorpal will never return-- but Harry's following the same route, isn't he?"

"He is," Therius nodded, "I have only felt one or two pricks on the Light and Water parts of the 'Power'-- Dark, Earth and Spirit are being used quite frequently, but without the other two, there is no balance, and without that balance... then the Balance will never be fully realized."

"But without someone who knows how to control Water and Light, no one else can be taught," Hermione concluded, "Hardly a good thing."

"Indeed," Therius sighed, "As it is, I can teach something of Water to students willing to listen, but I have been cut off for so long that I can barely remember that, let alone a part of the 'Power' that I have never used before."

"That doesn't sound very good."

"Personally, I think it sounds like treason, Enchantress."

Whirling, Hermione, Remus and the Faeries found themselves confronted by the white-wearing Draco Malfoy and black-wearing Blaise Zabini. It had been Bladewhip who had spoken, his eyes hard and cold, "And to think," he spat, "that Harry and Weapon let you into their mind. Well. I'll correct that soon enough."

"Draco!" Granger glared daggers at him, "I am not committing treason-- who is there to commit treason to? Harry doesn't rule us, he is our friend!"

"Harry is friend only to those that know how to do what they're supposed to," Draco snapped back, "And you... well, you sound like you're going to try and stop him from achieving his goals. Now... we can't have that, can we?"

"Draco, you're insane!"

"Part and parcel with the Power, Mudblood. You'd know that if you had any talent with it," the cruel, mocking laughter fell from his lips, and Hermione felt her blood boil.

Calm yourself, Therius' voice flickered into the back of her mind, he's baiting you.

I know that, she shot back, but it still hurts that someone who was my dearest friend's enemy is now his closest confident!

"I don't need talent in the Power," Hermione spoke aloud, eyes dark, "I have my magic."

"Magic is nothing compared to the Power," Draco laughed, "Here, let me show you!" a ball of plasma was whipped at the young woman, and she barely managed to dodge out of the way. Soon enough all she could do was dodge, Velocity clinging desperately to her hair so as not to get knocked off. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Remus duking it out with Blaise, but a burning sensation across her arm brought her back to her own situation.

Draco was toying with her, and they both knew it.

He mind raced to find a solution, but the only thing she could think of was negating Draco's abilities-- but she didn't have any access to the Light or the Water, which would be what she needed to douse the Dark-inspired plasma balls he was whipping at her. Against her hip, her athame seemed to burn, and it was beginning to hurt, but she needed all her concentration to survive Malfoy's attack, and couldn't do anything about it.

Velocity! Therius' mental voice rang loudly through the younger faerie's mind, You're here for a reason, otherwise you wouldn't have made it across. Now do your destined task!

My what? Velocity wondered, but Therius didn't respond, to busy was he trying to help Remus stay alive. The young Faerie clung to Hermione's head, yelping suddenly as a shot nearly took him out of the game for good. Destined task? What was it, to get killed?

No... no, there was... something...

The Athame! He could feel it, too, despite being on top of her head, and for a moment he wondered what to do. Then, without thought he let go of his death grip on her hair-- just as she twisted out of the way of an attack, allowing him to land on the blade itself. He didn't believe in coincident, as he felt the blade grow hotter as he touched it.

Please, please, please, he begged to whatever higher power was out there, don't let this be the end.

Then he let his body go, a shimmering ball of turquoise guttering out as there was nothing left to sustain it.

* * *

End Chapter

I'm evil.

October 2, 2007: You'll note that Chapter 67 has been deleted. There are reasons for this. Feel free to guess why.


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